


If I'm Found I'll End Up Lost

by insight_ful



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Desert Island, Lost - Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insight_ful/pseuds/insight_ful
Summary: Jesse McCree did not expect his flight to land on a deserted island, nor did he plan for his landing to be a crash that tore the plane into three pieces. And, surprisingly, he didn't expect as many people to survive such a thing as apparently did.But where exactly did they crash, and how do they explain the very weird things that seem to happen on the island. Plus, why has nobody come for them yet?{ overwatch characters in a LOST universe }
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in 2018 back when i had a will to live oopsie  
> some of the dialogue and events are lifted straight from the shows script im sorry

Fire. That’s the first thing that Jesse sees when he wakes up. Bright orange flames reach up in contrast with the light blue sky. The smoke that accompanies the fire acts as the clouds, as there aren’t any to be seen. The smoke burns his eyes. At the moment, it's a bit hard for him to see much besides watery colors.

Blinking away the sleepy blur and excess tears in his eyes, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, not fully comprehending why exactly he was outside, and practically surrounded by fire. He’s first hit with the overwhelming smell of smoke, which was to be expected considering his surroundings.

Habitually, he reaches up to straighten his hat- a stetson that he almost never let out of his sight- only to find it missing. His hand finds air where his hat should be, and it causes more panic for him than the fire. He sits up completely, back as straight as a pole as he looks around, calloused hands desperately patting at warm sand as if he’d find it at his side.

For obvious reasons, he does not.

He can feel his heart pound, overreacting over something as simple as a cowboy hat. His head whips around to either side, hands throwing sand into the air as they sweep across the ground.

While searching in vain for his hat, he was able to see what was going on around him, and it was quite frankly just terrifying. He couldn’t tell what was worse. The remains of the middle portion of a commercial airplane sat on a beach, surrounded by wreckage and what was now no more than scrap metal, as well as both of the engines, one torn to pieces, and one still spinning fast enough to outrun a car.

He finds himself pushing backwards, his legs moving without his order, trying to get as far away from that as possible. If there was one thing he knew from doing work on junker cars for the past few years, it was that fire and motors did not mix. And common sense was enough for him to know better than to get close to a running jet engine. That’d just be plain suicidal.

He swipes the back of his hand across his shirt, getting as much sand off of it as possible, before doing the same across his face. A quick glance at his hand tells him that he’s covered in flecks of blood, dirt, and what is probably just ash. Gross.

A rustling behind him gives him a bit of a scare, making him whip around just to see a dog- a german shepard to be specific- staring at him through leaves the size of two of his heads at least.

Jesse feels his brow furrow, confused by the sudden presence of a canine, complete with a collar. Tags. Everything. Though, he doesn’t have all that much time to think about it before the dog huffs and turns tail, running back into the foliage and out of sight. 

“Wait-“ Jesse finds himself yelling after it as if it would obey him, finding his voice rough. His hand comes up to rub his neck, one corner of his lips turned up in discomfort. Tilting his head up, he takes note of a clean, white shoe, hanging above him, the laces tangled between two stalks of bamboo.

A revving behind him grabs his attention, and he once again turns, investigating.

The engine couldn’t be more than twenty yards away, and engines on 250 seater airlines aren’t exactly small. Sparks shower from it, shooting up into the air, leading his eyes to see one wing of the plane. It stuck straight up into the air, towering above the chaos on the beach.

When his eyes finally return to the ground, he changes his mind. It isn’t chaos, it’s a practical war zone. Survivors run about, some injured, others not. They help each other in a frantic state, any cries or words spoken completely drowned out by the roaring of the engine.

His first instinct is to look for help. So, though he has seen the surroundings already, he turns around again. This time he takes in more detail than the last. Above the trees and bamboo, there are mountains. Distant, but not so far that they look small. Sharp, jagged mountains, covered with trees all the way up to the top. Taking a step back, he stumbles a bit, turning towards the wreckage again.

Past the remains of the plane is more beach, probably a hundred feet or so, and then ocean. Rough, never ending ocean. No signs of other islands nearby, or any boats in the distance. Looking up, he doesn’t even see any trails from planes, other than a short, fading, and very jagged one. One most likely from the plane now in the sand.

Normally, Jesse would say that handling stressful situations came naturally to him, but this time his usual confidence evades him. Maybe that was in part due to him still not having fully processed the severity of the situation.

People are dead. That much is obvious. Just looking around the beach is enough to show you at least three bodies, and that’s just what he can see from where he stands. Not only that, but people were still actively dying. He can see a man with metal sticking out of his stomach, arm up in the air in a silent plea for help. And only a few yards away a woman works with two men to lift a part of the wing that had smashed into the ground onto a survivor, dragging his legs out from under it in a bloody mess.

A wave of nausea overcomes him at the sight, which is usually another thing that he doesn’t have to worry about. Today seems to be full of exceptions.

“Don’t be silly, Jesse, planes don’t crash”, he can still hear the man he sat next to nagging him for his nerves. If there was one good thing that came of the situation, it was that he no longer had to listen to the man rant and rave about whatever the hell kind of business it was he was trying to start. The only good detail he can remember was just how dumb the idea to staff a store with cats sounded.

Sure, he could understand having a friendly residential kitty at a local bookstore, but actually paying them? Ridiculous.

In reality, Jesse didn’t think that the plane would crash, but now that it had, he’s sure as hell going to take advantage and say “told you so” as often as he sees fit.

If they live through the mess that is the aftermath, that is.

Not long after the small group free the man from under the wing, someone walks in front of the engine, disoriented and lost. The man stops for only a second, looking around, just in time for the engine to rev up again. It grabs his attention, as well as his entire being as he is sucked up into it. Blood splatters around everywhere and the engine makes a horrible grinding sound.

Naturally, Jesse backs further away. Into the foliage, and out of the way.

He continues to back up, wanting to be a safe distance away, but he doesn’t get very far before getting tripped up by a suitcase. It had probably fallen out of the plane when they crashed, but it’s intact. With a hurried sigh, he reaches for it, kneeling before unzipping the top and digging through the clothes inside to try and find something of use.

Inside there is a laptop, along with its charger, though he doubts that will be of much use at the moment. Perhaps some other time he can figure out something to do with it, even if that just means claiming it as his own when rescue teams show up. 

Getting a new laptop is better than nothing. Pawning it will be easy and should get him a couple hundred in his pocket if he’s lucky. No reason to turn that down. He throws the clothes out of the suitcase, seeing no real use for size 2 women’s jeans, and keeps what might come in handy. The laptop, charger, a book, a pair of reading glasses, and a toiletries bag.

If there was one thing he learned from reading Hatchet twice in eight grade, it was that sometimes things don’t go as planned. For example: a rescue team might not show up to save you for months. In those months, having things valuable to the other survivors might just come in handy.

With a swift movement, the suitcase, which he now takes the time to notice is cheap plastic meant to look like metal, is zipped up. He makes sure to pick it up and drag it along with him when he continues away from the wreckage, now heading further down the beach rather than into the jungle to his right.

It isn’t long before he runs across another suitcase, which he falls to his knees in front of and rummages through, once again taking the most valuable items inside. This time though, he is interrupted by an explosion loud enough to make his ears ring. Turning back, he finds that where a wing once stood up into the sky, it now lies on the ground in ruins. The jet fuel inside was probably what caused the explosion, and consequently, the fire on top of and around it.

The explosion triggers some more frightened yelling and screaming, though Jesse isn’t bothered. He just continues on, checking out a few more bags and little chunks of metal along the way. He only stops once he’s about fifty yards away, leaving the suitcase he’d collected at the edge of the jungle.

He digs into his front pocket, pulling a pack of cigarettes from inside. He opens it up to find a few of the cigarettes on one side crushed, but the rest are still fine. One of the surviving smokes is placed between his lips before the box is returned to his pocket, only to be moved aside in favor of a lighter.

The metal lighter hardly has any fluid left inside, but it’s more than enough to light the cigarette hanging between the dry lips of Jesse, and he can’t ask for any more than that.  
Inhale… exhale. Just how quickly a little puff of smoke can calm his nerves has never ceased to amaze him.

Luckily for him, he’d never had a problem with getting anxious. The only thing plaguing him is the addiction to whatever the hell is in a cigarette. That and the tendency to find himself in the middle of trouble.

Like now.

Jesse stands in the middle of the beach, fifty or so yards away from the plane, smoking. His brows are furrowed enough to terrify anybody he aimed his glare at, and his arms hang loosely at his sides, but in a way that is no less intimidating than his stare.

From the corner of his eye he can see a blond man approaching. At least, he thinks he’s blond. There’s enough dirt and soot on him that it’s difficult to tell, but he’s sure everyone looks like that at the moment.

The man walks around his backside and stops to his right, staring at the wreckage with him. The look in his eyes is much different though. Where Jesse has anger, this man has interest. The fiery passion behind his eyes could rival that of a child determined to learn to ride a bike. He’s quiet only for a minute before he speaks up.

“You, uh — s’cuse me. You sure you should be smoking, mate?” The man has an Australian accent, which isn’t unusual considering the plane had been coming from Sydney.

Turning his head towards the blond, Jesse’s expression does not change. His face is set as stone, and he moves his attention from the plane to the other man for only as long as it takes to fire back.

“You sure you want me to shove my foot up your ass?” In contrast to the Aussie, Jesse’s voice carries a heavy southern drawl. Like he’d popped right out of a Clint Eastwood film.

The blond stares blankly at the sand for a moment, thin lips closed tightly.

“Okay, excellent. Just thought I’d raise it,” he nods, understanding, and begins to walk off.

He only gets a few steps away before he stops and turns back, questioning. “You kind if I bum one then?”

Clenching his jaw, Jesse gives a sharp nod and pulls another cigarette from his pocket without even taking the box out, holding it out to the stranger.

“Thanks,” the man gives him a small wave, looking much more cheery than one probably should after being in a plane crash. He continues on the path he had started, twirling the cigarette between his fingers.

Jesse watches him go, expression softening just the slightest as he goes back toward the wreckage.

From where he stands, he takes in the sight. The diminishing fires, the blood staining the sand, and the bodies he can just barely make out inside of the plane. All still buckled into their seats, slumped over and limp. Most of them would have fallen out by now if not for the seatbelts and the rows in front of them, seeing as the middle section of the plane had landed at an angle.

The people milling around the wreckage look devastated. Searching for loved ones and friends, and some even dragging away suitcases that belong to them.

He sees the woman that had helped lift the wing off a man’s legs head into the forest opposite of the plane, a white t-shirt in hand. Her hair is pulled up into a tight, blond ponytail, and the white sundress she wears is stained red at her side. Ouch.

Not long after, a man heads that direction too, his hands held tightly together at his chest. His hair is long enough that Jesse could have mistaken him for a woman if he hadn’t looked closely enough.

Some survivors wander their way into the ocean to scrub blood and dirt off themselves, and others start down the beach, searching the edge of the jungle for wood to start fires with.

Only the most traumatized stay near the plane.

A select few people, some injured or unconscious, others just in the midst of some sort of breakdown. They don’t stray from the plane because they can’t, and Jesse doesn’t blame them.

He doesn’t pity them either.

Instead of focusing on feeling bad for them, Jesse makes quick work of heading down the beach and back towards the plane— or what’s left of it anyway. His cowboy boots hold him back, clearly not being built for the sand, but he gets there regardless.

Standing at the base of what used to be a huge, functional jet, he looks up into the remnants. He looks up at the dead, sees the oxygen masks that had fallen from the ceiling, some still over people’s faces. He sees the broken bones and the blood, but he keeps staring. He stares until he can’t bring himself to keep doing so, and even when he looks away he stays standing there. The cigarette he’d lit is now nothing but the filter and ash, which he flicks off to the side and mashes into the sand using his boot.

It’s only a matter of minutes before he’s climbing inside, using the seats as makeshift rungs to help him up.

He’s looking for his hat.

As dumb as it may sound, his hat is one of his most important possessions. One of the few things he has from his childhood, and the only thing that’s near and dear to his heart. Without it, he just doesn’t feel quite right.

He knows better than to expect to find it. The entire tail end of the plane was ripped off in the air, and the cockpit had the same fate not long after. The probability of his hat still being on board is basically nonexistent, but he’d rather search in vain than drive himself crazy thinking about it.

So he does. He looks between seats, under them, even around those that weren’t so fortunate to make it through the crash. He looks in every nook and cranny, and comes up empty handed. He searches again, yielding the same results in the end.

On his third time around the plane, he takes the time to pry open a few suitcases, pulling more laptops, chargers, and toiletries from inside.

Always clever, he knows that if it comes down to it, things like this will be the most valuable. Batteries and hygiene. And usually, medicine is kept with toiletries, so there’s an added bonus with that.

When he runs across them he makes sure to pick up packs of cigarettes as well, dumping out a backpack in an empty seat and beginning to fill it with the smaller things he finds. Laptops have just been laid down in the aisles and left to slide down to the sand on their own. He figures that’s easier than lugging them around until he leaves.

He glances at the overhead compartments, but doesn’t get a chance to decide whether or not he’d like to get into them before a booming voice interrupts.

Just the simple “excuse me” is enough to scare Jesse out of his boots, but he recovers quickly.

Looking down to the sand, he finds the source of the voice. A tall, broad, white haired man. The kind of man that has a look that screams “I’m a cool grandpa”. If the scar over his eye was not enough to justify that, then his German accent sure did the trick.

The German stares up into the cabin at Jesse, not allowing his eyes to wander onto the dead.

“Have you found the meals?” His voice is demanding, but in a soft way. Jesse can’t think of a better way to describe it.

“Uh,” he pauses, looking the man up and down. The German is huge. The kind of guy that probably had to utilize two plane seats instead of one. He’s got to be at least a foot taller, and the width of his shoulders makes Jesse about ninety percent sure that he has to be wearing football padding under his shirt. There’s just no way a man could be so big.

That being said, he knows better than to lie to this man. He could pummel him into the dirt without a second thought if he felt the need to, and being beaten to death over a couple of airline meals really isn’t on Jesse’s agenda.

“Yeah, found the food. Why d’you need it?” He reaches for one of the seats above him, grunting as he pulls himself up further. He had left the food whereby he found it- in a cart lodged between the top of a seat and the overhead compartments. How it ended up there, he wasn’t sure, but he sure as hell wasn't going to question it.

“There is a woman,” the German raises his voice to accommodate Jesse getting further away, “She is pregnant. There’s also a child. I feel that they should be taken care of.”

While he’d love to keep the food to himself, he’d rather not leave a pregnant woman that managed to survive a plane crash to fend for herself. Plus any kid that had to see the horror of the aftermath was probably scarred enough as is. They deserved it.

“Well,” Jesse opens up the cabinet in the bottom half of the cart, pulling out frozen meals and sending them down the aisles and into the sand. “You best get the grill runnin’, big guy. Doubt there’s much desire for cold steak.”

Two dozen meals. There were only two dozen meals inside the cart, and now they’re all down in the sand, waiting for the gargantuan German to pick them up.

Jesse watches as he does so, not seeming to question the other things that he had slid down out of the plane. He collects the food, gives an appreciative nod, and heads down the beach.

In the distance, there’s already three fires, one slightly bigger than the rest. Survivors gather around them, while some still seem to be starting their own. It’s probably a good idea to start heading that way too, considering that the sky is starting to turn from blue to purple, and the light on the beach is slowly diminishing.

It’s getting dark, and they haven’t seen a single plane or helicopter pass overhead. No boats in the distance either. For all he knows, they could be on an island that’s not even supposed to exist.

One of his boots is kicked up onto the back of a seat, holding up his weight while he leans back against the aisle. His hands come to his face, covering it while he sighs. How he got into this situation, he doesn’t know, but he’d rather be alive and miserable than stuck in one of the seats, dead.

Death had never really appealed to Jesse. Even in his teenage years when nothing seemed to go his way, he was determined to live and keep doing whatever he needed to in order to survive. He didn’t want to die when he was arrested for the first time, or when he first shot a man. And he doesn’t want to die now.

Composing himself only takes a few seconds. He shakes off the feelings he doesn’t want, and focuses on something else. Right now, that focus is observing.

The backpack he’s been filling is placed against his chest before he lets himself slide down the aisle, finding himself in the same place as everything else he’d sent down. He stands there for a moment, eying the fires on the beach, while he puts the backpack on. From what he can see, there’s around forty people alive. Maybe fifty if he counts the people that are probably still off in the jungle looking for wood.

That’s not many, considering they were on a 250 seat jet.

It’s hard to believe that even fifty made it to the ground alive. The pressure change that happened when the tail end broke off should have been enough to suck them all out of the plane and into the air, but somehow they made it.

There are some injured, he knows. Two men lying on the beach near the plane, both unconscious. One with a broken leg, and the other with a large piece of shrapnel sticking up out of his stomach. A quick glance around the area shows that nobody is around to take care of them.

A decision is made. He grabs all of the computers he had collected, as well as the other larger objects that he thought would come in handy, and puts them neatly inside a suitcase he’d picked clean, leaving it leaning up against the jagged edge of the plane.

The backpack is slung over one shoulder. He figures it’ll be better to keep the valuables like medicine and cigarettes. Nothing like an addiction or injury to get people wanting to be on his side.

The sand kicks up around Jesse’s worn out boots as he walks, making a direct path towards the two injured men. If nothing else, he might as well get their wallets out before they die. That way they won’t have to be digging around in the pockets of dead men. He’s done that more times than he’d like to admit, and it certainly wasn’t enjoyable.

His eyes scan over the treeline as he approaches, cautious. The only movement is from the wind; just a gentle breeze. It’s the perfect fit for the island.

Once he’s sure nobody is watching him, he crouches down by one of the men, the one with metal sticking up out of his stomach. 

The wound looks painful, clearly. It’s bloody, with red coating the jagged skin around the shrapnel. His white t-shirt is ripped open, allowing easier access to his stomach, and probably making it easier for the blood to clot and scab up.

Whoever took care of him hopefully knew what they were doing. If it were him, he would’ve ripped the metal out by now. 

The front pockets of his dress pants look empty, but he pats them anyway, just to make sure. As he suspected, there’s nothing.

Rolling him over with that metal still lodged inside him probably wouldn’t be the best idea.

A huff escapes his lips as he shakes his head. He has to get something out of this detour, even if it isn’t a wallet. He glances down his legs, eyes falling on his shoes. They look nice. Like the kind of shoes you could sell online for upwards of a hundred bucks.

They’ll do.

Jesse shifts, moving further down until his body is even with the man’s feet. A dirt covered hand is placed on his ankle, but quickly taken away. Under his pant leg there is something hard, probably strapped onto his ankle.

“What in the good god damn?” Jesse mumbles to himself under his breath, confused.

He pushes the dress pants out of the way, his eyes widening. On this man's ankle is an ankle holster, a pistol inside. Jesse wastes no time grabbing it, checking it over to see if it was still worth anything after the crash. He checks the magazine, satisfied to find it fully loaded. It looks like it would work to him, but he won’t know until he actually tries to use it. Something he probably shouldn’t do until he has no other choice.

Jesse pops the magazine back into the pistol, making sure the safety is on before he puts it under his shirt in the small of his back, the barrel sitting semi-comfortably between his jeans and underwear. That’s exactly where it’ll stay until he manages to find a better way to carry it.

Now all that he needs to figure out is why in the hell this guy had a gun on a plane. Usually, that sort of thing wouldn’t fly. Especially coming from Australia. A country that doesn’t even let citizens carry handguns certainly wouldn’t just let a normal guy take one on a plane.

He furrows his brows, nose crinkling as he checks out everything around the guy for hints.

He’s laying on top of a white button up and black blazer— probably what he was wearing on the plane. Whoever had taken care of him had just taken his arms out of the sleeves to keep him cool. Probably a smart move. He wouldn’t have to be moved to get them off completely that way.

Jesse checks the pocket on the right side of the blazer, finding nothing but a balled up gum wrapper.

When he leans over to check his left, he’s careful not to hit the metal in his stomach. The less obvious it is that he was here, the better. He lifts up the portion of the blazer that isn’t being laid on, and a glint near the top catches his eye. He grabs for it, pulling whatever it is off and inspecting it.

It’s a badge, clip on, for a U.S. marshal.

Thankfully, that gives Jesse all the answers he needs. He was probably just acting as some extra security for whatever reason. He’d never heard of cops flying on planes to stop terrorist attacks, but it’s not too far out there. Maybe it’s just an Aussie thing.

The badge is shoved into his front pocket, opposite of the one holding his cigarettes. Just in case.

Jesse doesn’t even bother checking out the other man. He’s fully satisfied with his findings, and there’s no possible way that the guy with a broken leg and a Hawaiian shirt could have something as valuable as a gun on his person.

Instead of continuing his search for valuables, he leaves. He heads back to the plane, grabs the suitcase he’d stuffed, and goes down the beach to find the first one he’d claimed. Exactly where at the edge of the jungle he’d left it escaped him, but finding it wouldn’t be hard. He hadn’t gone very far, after all.

Kicking sand up all the way down the beach, Jesse ignores the offer of one of the thawed out meals from the large German man as he passes, headed towards the shore where a few people sit. He continues past, determined.

There’s no need to get distracted.

Besides, it shouldn’t be too long before the wreckage is found and they’re rescued. All he’s doing is stocking up, just in case.

He tromps his way through the underbrush acting as a border between sand and dirt, breaking stems and ripping leaves with his boots in the process. He nearly steps on his suitcase before he notices it, stumbling a bit to catch himself.

The second case is dropped on top of the first, the backpack is leaned against the two, and Jesse gets to work using plants to cover them up. The cover mostly consists of the leaves bigger than his head, and some tall tufts of grass. It isn’t the most well hidden, but it will do for the night, assuming they’re not rescued before morning.

\- -

Around one of five bonfires created on the beach, a woman walks around, stops, and holds her cell phone in the air. She takes a few steps and checks the screen- just as she’s done some ten times now. She turns, watching as a few men throw palm fronds into the fire. Across from it, a man sits clutching his legs and watching the flames.

“What’s your name?” Her accent is thick, sounding Indian.

The man perks up, looking up at her over the fire. “Me? Oh- Jamison!”

“Help with the fire, Jamison. Nobody will see it if it is not big,” she looks at her cell phone once again as she speaks.

Jamison hops up, full of enthusiasm, “I’m on it! What’s your name?”

“Satya,” she responds dismissively, going back to her hunt for service.

Jamison trots across the beach, heading to the edge of the foliage to do as he was instructed. The smile on his face doesn’t match the general mood of the island; surrounded by dismal survivors and the wreckage still filled with corpses. The large German crosses his path, headed the opposite direction. With him, he carries the thawed out airplane meals. He passes them out, saving them for those that look the most affected by the crash. Whether that be mentally or physically, he makes those calls by himself.

Jesse sits alone, leaning against one of the palm trees lining the beach. He twirls a broken piece of tall grass between his fingers, watching the different exchanges going on across the beach. He watches a woman and an Asian man attempting to figure out how the plane went down, reenacting the crash with a cut up leaf. A man and a woman argue on the shore. The German man checks in on the pregnant woman he mentioned earlier.

Shifting his focus down to the blade of grass in his hand, he sluggishly ties it into a knot, and continues doing so until it’s too small to tie without breaking, rolling it between his index finger and thumb then.

He’s perfectly content just sitting there and contemplating things all night, but the fates just won’t have it.

A roar tears through the forest, shaking the island, as well as everyone on it, to their cores. He scrambles up, kicking up sand as he moves as quickly as he can away from the treeline. He loses his grass knot on his way up. He joins the quickly forming group of people about twenty yards from the trees, staring out into the wilds like they’re expecting a dinosaur to crash through.

For a moment, the air is filled only with the whisperings of people wondering what’s going on, and a child that is somehow convinced the sound must have been her dog. By the time the second roar comes, everyone was starting to think it was going to be a one time thing.

The second sound is accompanied by trees swaying in the distance. Huge, fifty foot tall trees, swaying and being knocked over by whatever is producing the sound. Then silence- only for the attention to be drawn to another part of the jungle, where more trees fall.

Whatever is out there is giant, moving at what must be a few acres in seconds. Whatever it is, it’s getting further from the beach.

There is silence, everyone holding their breath to see what comes next. And out of nowhere, the Jamison speaks from right behind Jesse, which quite frankly scares the shit out of him.

“Terrific.”

\- - - -

The pure, blue Pacific seems to stretch on forever outside the small plane windows. Miles, and miles, and miles of an endless turquoise; it moves so peacefully that it’s getting harder and harder to tell if the plane is actually even moving or not.

It’s been only a month since he was on a plane going the opposite of this one, and already his nerves are back. Flying has never been a personal favorite of his. This southerner is more suited for land, as he would say. 

Jesse stares out his window, brows heavy as he gets lost in his thoughts. He isn’t proud of what he’s done in Australia- not by a longshot. If anything, he’s more lost in life than he was before. He’s not sure of his purpose anymore.

“How’s the drink?” A chipper Australian accent grabs his attention. A flight attendant stands next to his set of seats. The man sitting next to him in the window seat had gotten up to use the restroom just a minute or two ago.

Turning his head, Jesse looks at the flight attendant. She’s pretty, he thinks, but not his type.

“It’s good,” he shrugs his shoulders weakly, looking down at the glass he holds. It barely passes as alcohol.

The attendant looks saddened. “That’s not a very strong reaction.”

“S’not a very strong drink,” Jesse fires back, sparing the woman half of a smile.

With a sly look, she leans down, plucking three of the miniature bottles of vodka from her cart, and slipping them to Jesse. She brings a finger to her lips, smiling, “Shh.”

She earns herself a smile as she walks off with her cart, stopping to talk with another passenger a few rows back. Jesse twists open one of the vodka bottles, dumping it into what’s left of his drink. He clinks the ice around inside, moving the glass side to side a bit to mix it up. He downs what’s left in it with two quick gulps.

He slips the other bottles into the bag between his feet.

There’s light turbulence, josling around everyone on the plane and starting a small wave of chatter among the passengers. Jesse sighs as he pulls his seatbelt across his lap, seeing the yellow seatbelt sign light up. 

Over the intercom, the voice of a flight attendant his hasn’t met announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the pilot has turned on the “fasten seatbelts” sign. Please return to your seats with your seatbelts fastened.”

Shifting in his seat, Jesse gets a light grip on his armrest. His eyes scan around at others that do the same, all nervous flyers. Seeing some even more uncomfortable than himself makes him feel a bit better, like focusing on their problems makes his own go away.

It’ll be over in no time. Turbulence happens all the time.

Exhaling a deep breath, Jesse closes his eyes, calming down considerably. 

There’s a loud while of the plane engine, grabbing everyone’s attention- even those with headphones on. Opening his eyes, Jesse turns his head to look out his window-- and the plane drops.

It’s what feels like two hundred feet in two seconds, sending three people, and every loose object flying to hit the ceiling. Jesse’s knuckles turn white from his grip on his armrests, He’s thankful now for the extra alcohol.

\- - - -

Crashing waves on the shore create a beautiful horizon as the sun rises over them. The trees sway from a light breeze, which brings in the scent of the salt water even stronger than it already has been.

Sitting among a group of the survivors in the middle of the sand, Jesse wears the same flannel shirt he’d been in when the plane crashed yesterday. Nobody has slept- all wired from the events of the previous day.

Among the group, there’s a child. She looks to be only ten years old, maybe eleven. Long hair has clearly been combed through with something, but there’s nothing that can help the frizz it holds. She looks over the odd assortment of adults, all talking about the “thing” from last night.

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural,” the man next to the little girl- probably her father- shrugs.

“I keep thinking… The sound it made is kinda familiar,” a woman offers.

“Really? Where are you from?” The father speaks up again.

“The Bronx,” she shrugs, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand.

Jamison perks up, an idea coming to him rather suddenly, “Maybe it was somethin’ like monkeys!”

That gets a scoff out of Jesse, He shakes his head, “Yeah. I’m sure it was monkeys. We’re on god damn Monkey Island.”

“We aren’t even sure that we’re on an island,” the German interjects.

Satya rolls her eyes, speaking as that’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard, “We are on an island.”

This same conversation has been repeating in different forms all night long. Some people have already gotten tired of it, but Jesse only joined in on all the chit-chat a few hours ago. He spent most of his night leaned up against a tree on his own, not bothering to socialize. But now that he’s observed everyone from a distance, he’s fairly confident that he knows who’s worth his time.

After a short lapse in conversation, the German man bring the attention to himself.

“I was looking in the fuselage,” he gestures towards the remains of the plane down the beach, “It is a grim sight. Should we do something with the…” he glances at the child, “B-O-D-Y-S?”

There’s a second of silence as everyone processes his spelling mistake. The girls dad points it out first. “What are you trying to spell, bodies?”

The girl herself corrects him, “B-O-D-I-E-S.”

The topic doesn’t get a chance to continue on as a woman approaches. Jesse recognizes her as the woman that helped get someone out from underneath one of the wings. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, keeping it off her neck and out of her way. Still, bangs fall loose from it and frame her face.

“I’m going to look for the cockpit. There should be a transceiver inside that we can use to contact the rescue team and help them find us,” her voice holds an accent too, but Jesse can’t pinpoint what it is. It sounds a little different than the German man’s. She points at a man with dreads in the group, who perks up. 

“You keep an eye on the injured. If the man with shrapnel in his stomach wakes up, do not let him move,” she sound sweet, but she does have an authoritative tone. She sounds like she would make a good leader.

“What about the guy with the leg? Your tourniquet-” The man with dreads starts to question her, clearly much less confident in his skills than her. Jesse isn’t sure if either of them have any medical background, but if they do, the woman is undoubtedly much better than him.

“It stopped the bleeding. He will be fine. I took it off last night.”

Dreads nods, smiling, “Yeah, okay. Cool. I got this,” he stands, brushing sand off his legs as he starts down the beach to where the two injured men are laid out.

As he leaves, Jamison stands as well, smiling at the woman, “I’d like t’help you. I’m coming with.”

She’s clearly not at all comforted with the idea of him tagging along, “No thank you, I don’t need any more help.”

“I still wanna go. I’m not to keen on sitting around,” he shrugs, disregarding her very clear displeasure.

Jesse stops them before either one talks again, pushing himself up to stand with them, “Alright, genius. This sounds like a great idea. Goin’ out into the jungle after whatever the hell that thing last night was? Yeah, great.”

While Jesse is talking, the Asian man that the blondie had been demonstrating the plane crash with joins the group, crossing his arms over his chest. Bits of hair that have fallen loose from his ponytail fly into his face with the breeze, but he ignores them.

“What’s going on,” his voice is lower than Jesse expected- a little more gruff. But maybe he’s only surprised because he’s only ever heard the more “stereotypical” Asian voices. 

“Nothing,” the blonde interjects before anyone can answer him, which Jesse had just been opening his mouth to do.

“Then let’s go,” the Asian man turns, clearly not wanting to waste any time getting to the cockpit, wherever it is. 

Jamison raises his brows, nodding, “He’s coming too? Neat-o.”

He actually takes off first, taking the lead and going towards the treeline. The other two exchange a glance, but follow behind him anyway. He must be going in the right direction. Assuming they have even the slightest clue where they’re going.

“If they show up to rescue us while you’re gone, we ain’t waitin’ around,” Jesse grumbles, brushing past the rest of the group to go to his own little setup. Aka, where he’s started stocking up all of his new belongings. He’s got tarps, suitcases, clothes- hell, he’s even got some salvaged metal and plane seats.

Dropping into one of the blue seats, Jesse leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. He’s only been on the island for 15 hours or so, and he’s already gotten more of a tan than he already had. He hasn’t checked yet, but he probably has tan lines from where his shirt is rolled up to his elbows.

From where he sits, he can still hear the group talking. They chatter on about the plane, about what they were on it for, even how they personally experienced the crash. 

He doesn’t understand how they’re able to talk about it so much without getting over it by now. He’s still not over it himself, but it’s like they’re having a group therapy session over there. Even the little girl is in on it, though she just sits and listens. Just as Jesse does from a distance now.

The conversation drones on for what feels like forever, and minute by minute Jesse gets closer to a nap. He’s only started awake by something hitting the bottom of his boot. He opens his eyes, sitting up straighter, face to face with the girl. She has a hand placed on her hip, looking as sassy as a ten year old possibly can.

“Why’s your hair so long?” She raises an eyebrow, and it makes Jesse wonder what her mother must be like for her to pick up all this attitude at such a young age.

“Why’s half a’ yours so short?” He fires back, pointing out the shaved side of her head. He doesn’t understand that trend.

The girl doesn’t give a response, instead just looking at him. Assessing. She seems very critical.

Rather suddenly, she shrugs. “My name’s Sombra.”

“That’s one weird name, kid,” Jesse raises a brow, but offers her a hand to shake regardless, “Jesse.”

Sombra glances at his hand, waiting a moment before she actually reaches out and shakes it. Her hand is barely half the size of his own, but she gives a surprisingly firm handshake regardless. Jesse is actually impressed.

When they let go, Jesse notices her chipped, purple nail polish. He’s not sure why it catches his eye, but it’s a very nice color, he’ll admit. The poor girl probably won’t be able to paint her nails again for awhile, if things go how he’s felt they are. Some sort of rescue team should have found them by now.

“I’m bored,” Sombra sits down in the seat attached to Jesse’s, crossing her arms.

“Yeah?” Jesse looks down at her, “I am too.”

The two of them sit like that in silence for a minute, watching the others talk on different parts of the beach. Sombra looks over at the three suitcases Jesse has stacked up next to his seat, curious. He looks too, but he already knows what’s inside. 

“Found a game a’ checkers, if you wanna play,” he offers.

Sombra nods, clearly preferring anything over listening to adults complain about the same things they’ve complained about all night. She helps him set up one of the suitcases as a makeshift table, moving to sit opposite of him, on the other side. She mimics how he sets up his checkers, using the black set. 

It only takes them about thirty seconds of playing for Jesse to figure out that she doesn’t actually have even the slightest clue how to play, so it quickly turns from a game of checkers to a tutorial. Jesse isn’t the best at the game himself, but he at least knows the rules well enough to teach someone else. 

They spend a short while just fiddling around with the basics before they decide to start a game. Jesse decides to go easy on her this time, since it’s her first one. He makes a few dumb moves that even he recognizes as wrong. He tests to see if she remembers the rules. All the good stuff involved with the game. They only take a break when someone walks up behind Sombra, looking over the checkerboard and right at Jesse. 

Glancing up, Jesse recognizes the new guest as the man he figured is Sombra’s dad.

“Hey there,” he sits up from his slumped over position, placing his hands on his knees. Jesse gives the man a once over, sizing him up. They’d be well matched in a fight, he thinks. If it ever comes to that.

“Sombra,” he places a hand on the top of her head, “What’re you up to?”

His voice isn’t as deep as Jesse had originally thought it would be, but he learned that back when everyone was in the group on the beach. He’s a big guy, fairly dark skinned (Jesse’s pretty sure he’s Mexican), and from what he’s heard about everyone’s pasts he served in the military at some point.

Sombra looks up at her dad, pushing his hand away, “Checkers. What’s it look like?”

“Hey now, don’t start sassin’ your dad too,” Jesse raises a brow, defending the other man. He’s never been a big fan of back-talking kids, even though he was one throughout his entire childhood.

Sombra rolls her eyes, “He’s not my dad.”

“Yeah, I am,” Gabriel sighs, clearly tired of having this argument with her, “What did I tell you about going off without telling me though?”

“Not to do it,” she wrinkles her nose, gesturing back towards the group that’s mostly broken up by now. “But you were right there! You could still see me.”

Jesse puts a hand up, leaning back in his seat, “Still need’ta listen to the big man, Sombra.”

Upset that her new friend is agreeing with him, she huffs, crossing her arms.

“The name’s McCree,” Jesse offers the other man a hand, which he takes and gives a hard shake.

“Reyes,” he gives his last name too, picking up on the obvious fact that Jesse had done so. He keeps a hold of his hand for a few seconds longer than Jesse would like- probably trying to assert his dominance somehow.

Overhead, the sky darkens pretty quickly. It goes from tropical day, to gloom and doom in seconds. Everyone looks up just as the first of the lightning streaks across the sky, raining coming quickly after it. As the wind picks up, it begins pouring. Sheets of rain come down on the survivors hard.

Standing up, Jesse grabs one of the tarps he collected and covers up all of his things, tucking the ends under suitcases and rocks to keep it from blowing away. By the time he’s done, Sombra and Reyes are already gone, huddling under a piece of the plane lodged in the sand. It’s clearly where they’ve set up their own little camp, as Reyes pulls a large raincoat out from behind him, laying it over Sombra.

Looking around, Jesse spots a woman under a tarp, trying and failing to get it secured on a small structure she’s set up. He runs over, ducking under the tarp and helping on the opposite corner that she is. It makes things work a lot better, and this time it stays up. Turning around, the two of them nearly knock into each other.

It’s Satya- the woman that was so desperately looking for a phone signal around the fire last night.

“I need to fix the other side!” She has so practically yell just to be heard over the rain pelting down on the tarp above them.

“I already got it,” Jesse assures, grabbing one of the spare sticks on the ground and shoving it into the sand in the middle of the tiny shelter, giving the tarp a little extra help against the rain. With how it’s set up, they’ll still need to push water out of it every so often to keep it from overflowing or breaking, but it will do.

Looking around, Jesse tries to find everyone else through the rain. Most everyone has found shelter under some of the debris, and as he spots the German, he sees him pointing back into the jungle.

Jesse turns, having to stick his head back out into the rain to see what he’s pointing at properly. The tree’s are swaying and being knocked over again, like they did last night. Satya does the same, seeing the look on Jesse’s face.

“That’s the way the others went,” she says, ducking back under cover of the tarp, “Help me set these out.”

Moving on quickly, Satya pulls out a few cups, sitting them out in the sand to collect water, Jesse does help, grabbing the three that are left and putting them in line with the others. They’re the same kind that he drank out of on the flight- these are probably all of them that didn’t break in the crash. It’s amazing that even six made it through. They’re glass, after all. They probably got cushioned on the seats or bags when they were thrown around in the landing.

“Don’t we have enough water?” Jesse grumbles, watching her go back to a suitcase in the corner of her makeshift shelter, shifting through it and pulling out an empty plastic bottle. She tosses it to Jesse without a word, but he gets the idea.

“We have enough for now, but we won’t soon at the rate we are drinking it,” she explains, clearly having thought this all through. She continues to look through her suitcase while Jesse digs into the sand and lodges the water bottle into a hole to keep it upright in the wind and rain.

Jesse doesn’t argue with Satya on that one- he knows that it’s true. If they don’t get rescued soon, they’re going to run out of water. Everyone still has high hopes that a helicopter or boat will find them anytime now, and they’re drinking water like it’s going out of style. Nobody is used to the tropical weather, not even the Australians.

It’s no more than ten minutes later that the rain stops, barely leaving anything in the glasses Satya had set out. In that time, Jesse had stayed under the tarp with her, helping push water out once or twice. The two of them don’t talk much, finding that they don’t really have anything in common. They’re from different sides of the globe, and have very different personalities. Jesse just figures even trying to get along with her right now isn’t the best idea. She must think the same.


	2. Chapter 2

The glares that are exchanged across the beach are the first signs of suspicions rising. Everybody has come up with their own theories on why the plane may have crashed, some thinking it was purely an accident, and others insisting it must have been some sort of terrorist activity. It’s impossible to know for sure at the moment, but that doesn’t stop anyone from trying to convince everyone else of their own theory.

Not long after the rain had stopped, Sombra went into the jungle looking for something, and had come back with a pair of handcuffs. Shiny, new handcuffs. A pair that clearly hadn’t been on the island any longer than the survivors had. That’s what sparked the sudden uprising of terrorist theories. Unfortunately, some of the minority survivors are receiving the most judgement.

Satya specifically is the target of most of this- seeing as she’s the closest to the Middle Eastern stereotype when it comes to terrorists. Some people even appear to think that India actually is part of the Middle East, but Jesse is glad to know he isn’t that stupid.

Personally, he is a little suspicious about the entire handcuff ordeal, but not so much so that he’s willing to instigate a fight with the Indian woman like one man already has. The instinct to stop it that he would normally have doesn’t seem to be kicking in though, as he stays seated nearby, watching the waves come in on the shore. He listens to the accusations fly between the two of them, ignoring the survivors that rush past him to see what the commotion is all about. It’s only pushing and yelling, but just as the three that had gone out to look for the front end of the plane trudge through the underbrush, Satya manages to get the man in a headlock, which he certainly doesn’t appreciate if his language is any indicator.

The blonde woman rushes in and pulls the two apart, standing between them. She seems to have a very calming energy about her. Something about her just being there eases the tension, though it doesn’t stop the two brawlers from yelling their explanations.

Satya is tired of being called a criminal, and the man is convinced she crashed the plane somehow. Reyes has to explain that the handcuffs his daughter found are what started this little uprising of disagreements. 

Continuing to explain their actions, Satya and the man begin to get worked up all over again, ready to pounce at any time. It’s the Asian man that gets them to stop this time, not the blonde.

“Stop!” His voice is commanding, and even the brash racist stops in his tracks. All eyes look to the Asian, of which Jesse doesn’t know the name, “We have bigger problems than your petty argument.”

From his bag, he pulls out a transceiver- a walkie talkie looking device that is not at all what Jesse thought it would look like. “We found the transceiver, but it isn’t working. Who can help fix it?” He holds it out just far enough that everyone gathered around can see it, including Jesse from where he sits. Though, now he’s a little more curious. He huffs a bit as he pushes himself up from his makeshift sofa, dragging his boots through the sand to join the group.

Of all people, Satya raises her hand, “I may be able to.”

The man she had been fighting with practically explodes, “Great! This lady! Yeah, let’s trust her!”

“We are all in this together,” the German man places a hand on the other’s shoulder, which is enough to get him to shut up, “Let’s treat each other with respect.”

Giving up, the man brushes past the blonde woman, bumping her with his shoulder as he does. He’s clearly not a fan of the group- just as they aren’t of him.

There’s a beat of silence in the group while everyone shifts uncomfortably. As Jesse settles into place next to the German, Satya steps forward and offers to take the transceiver from the Asian. He hands it over without a problem, and crosses his arms once his hands are empty.

“So, you guys found the cockpit. Were there any survivors?” The man with dreads asks, hopeful. Though everyone knows that if there had been survivors, they’d have come back with them. Jamison exchanges a look with the Asian, and then they both look to the blonde.

“No,” she shakes her head, but her attention is quickly drawn away from the topic as Satya speaks up.

She’s been looking over the transceiver since she got it into her hands, and she clearly knows more about it than anyone else. “This is military grade, dual band. As far as I can tell, it should broadcast full range. It’s just dead. The battery is likely just fine, we just need to find a way to get it charged. I will check it over more thoroughly in the meantime.”

Satya leaves without another word, going back to her tarp shelter with the transceiver in hand. Doubtful eyes follow her the whole way.

“I assume that means that she can do it,” the Asian mumbles, getting a nod from Jamison.

As the group begins to slowly break apart, a bald man approaches the blonde, quietly telling her something. They both turn and start towards the wreckage, leaving only a few people left standing there. Jesse only stays for a moment before he leaves too, slipping his hands into his pockets as he follows Satya’s path back to her shelter.

Shuffling through her suitcase, Satya doesn’t pay any mind to Jesse as he sits down under her tarp, leaning back against one of the trees that’s holding it up. 

“Racist dumbasses,” he mumbles, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He has the courtesy to turn his head away when he blows out smoke.

“Some people have problems,” Satya keeps it brief, sitting down with a pair of tweezers and a swiss army knife. She closes the suitcase to use it like a table. The transceiver is placed on top of it along with her two tools. As she sits down, she looks at Jesse, but Jesse is distracted by the large German man approaching them.

Satya turns her head when she sees that Jesse is distracted, eyes falling on the German just as he crouches down just outside the tarp ceiling.

“Reinhardt,” he offers her a hand, which she politely shakes. And though she’s not an especially small woman, her hand looks almost like a child’s compared to his.

She smiles, “Satya.”

“You are okay, Satya. I like you,” once their hands are apart he allows himself to fall onto his butt, sitting down where he is. His eyes shift over to Jesse, his already large smile growing, “And you are?”

“McCree,” he holds two fingers to his forehead and salutes him in greeting.

“Satya, tell me. How is it that you know all of this about the transceiver?” Reinhardt’s accent is heavy, like he’s only recently learned English. If that’s the case, his pronunciation and grammar are stellar.

“I was a communications officer. In the military,” she opens the swiss army knife, searching for the screwdriver tool. Once she finds it she begins to open up the back of the transceiver. 

“Oh, yes? Did you ever see battle?”

“Never a war,” she shrugs, putting the knife down and picking up the tweezers instead, “Only minor situations.”

Reinhardt nods knowingly. “I served in Germany,” he pauses, “Where were you?”

“India,” she seems distracted now, more focused on inspecting the thing that could potentially save them and get them off the island than talking about military service.

“And you, McCree?”

Jesse raises his brows, “Me?” He shakes his head, smiling, “Naw, that scene wasn’t for me. Never joined the army.”

Reinhardt nods, looking at Jesse like he’s a painting in an art museum. He points a finger in his direction for a moment, like he’s poking him from a distance. “But you have still been through something- I can see it in your eyes.”

“Yeah?” He dips his head down, laughing a bit, “Who hasn’t?”

“He has a point,” Satya lifts up her tweezers, including them in her hand movements while she talks, “Everyone has their own personal wars.”

“The two of you are full of wisdom!” Rein’s smile only grows, the older man so full of happiness for someone who’s plane crash landed on a mysterious island. Jesse has the hunch that he probably brightens the mood of just about anyone he meets.

All three of them jump when the transceiver turns on, static filling the airway. Satya stares at the tiny screen on the front, eyes searching. “We have no signal,” she switches it off, silencing the static, “And not much battery.”

The Asian man from earlier crouches down next to Reinhardt, showing up rather suddenly, and even scaring the big guy himself. He holds a hand over his heart and breathes out a laugh, “No need to sneak up on us, Hanzo!”

His name is Hanzo- Jesse makes a mental note of that. He’s the only person he’s been around and not learned the name of now, aside from the blonde woman. Though, he’s heard people calling her a doctor, so he does have some way of identifying her other than her hair color.

“Is it working?” Hanzo leans to the side, trying to see around Satya, “I heard the noise.”

“It seems to be, yes. But we are not getting a signal,” she holds the transceiver in one hand as she screws the back onto it once again.

“Why do we need to pick up a signal? Are we not sending one?” Hanzo furrows his brows, confused.

Satya understands his confusion and holds up the transceiver as she begins to explain, “Yes, but it is a transceiver. It both transmits and receives, which means that you can also read the levels of signals that you pick up,” she points to a corner of the blank screen, “If it were turned on, you would be able to see bars right here, but there are none. We are not in range of another radio.”

“The radio is worthless, then?” Hanzo comes across as very blunt to Jesse. So far, that’s all he’s been.

“We could broadcast blindly and hope that a ship somewhere picks up our call, but that would be a waste of the battery. It will not last very long.” Satya holds the transceiver in her lap, looking down at it.

“We need the bars,” Hanzo mumbles, thinking.

“We need the bars,” Satya nods in agreement, but doesn’t offer any further knowledge.

Really, getting signal doesn’t seem like it should be hard. Jesse’s seen countless shows and movies where people have climbed trees or gotten on their roofs to get a few bars. Surely there’s a way they can do something like that here, even without a ladder or a tree any of them are brave enough to climb.

“What about the mountains?” Jesse vaguely gestures towards the jungle with his head, “Climb up there and get some high ground.”

The mountains on the island seem giant from the beach- not bigger than some of the ranges Jesse’s seen back home in the US, but pretty damn big to hike up after a plane crash. They tower over the rest of the island, just as covered in vegetation as the rest of it. And with whatever that thing that’s out there is, it’s probably risky to even try to get there. Still, it’s probably their best bet.

Reinhardt speaks up, having not said anything throughout the exchange, “You are very brave if you wish to go that deep into the jungle with what is out there.”

“But it is not a bad idea,” Satya looks at Jesse, nodding, “Anyone that is coming should get ready now- we do not have much time to spare.”

With a huff, Jesse pushes himself up, having to lean over to stand under the tarp. He has no intention to go with them on a suicide mission. “Well, guess I’ll see you all later. I’ll leave you t’write your wills in peace.”

The others watch his back as he goes, heading back towards his own set up. He drops down onto his makeshift couch, leaning back and looking out into the ocean. It’s undeniably beautiful, no matter the consequences. Still, there’s something that Jesse doesn’t like about it. Whether it be that he’s trapped surrounded by it, or that he’s just taking out pent up anger out on something random, he isn’t a fan. At least not at the moment. 

Reinhardt catches his eyes as he lumbers past, heading to where he’s apparently made his own tiny set up. His is much less impressive- just a suitcase under a piece of metal that’s stuck in the sand. He switches shirts out, going from black to white, and then heads to the water with the one he just took off in hand. Probably to wash it off.

Eyes glued to Rein’s back as he gets lost in thought, Jesse is scared shitless by Jamison dropping down into the seat next to him seemingly out of nowhere. Out of everyone on the island, he’s the most childlike. And there’s an actual child here.

“McCree,” he tips an invisible hat, a wild smile on his face, “Have you heard yet?”

“Have I heard what?” Jesse settles further back into his seat, relaxing from the sudden onslaught of the Aussie’s energy.

“What we saw out there!” Jamison seems too excited for it to be anything bad, so Jesse just rolls his eyes and takes the bait.

“No, I don’t reckon I have.”

“It was crazy!” Jamison laughs, launching into a story that he’s repeated quite a few times now, “We found the cockpit right when it started to rain, and inside we found the pilot. He was still alive, and he gave us the transceiver. But the monster out there came outta NOWHERE! I’m tellin’ ya’, it wasn’t there one minute, and it was the next! It snatched the pilot right out the windshield! We all had to run away or it would’a got us too.”

His theatrics are over the top as he waves his arms about while he tells his story, keeping Jesse’s attention jumping back and forth between his gestures and his words. 

“Once we all found each other again, the pilot was all dead and bloodied up in a tree. Fifty feet up, I’m tellin’ you! What kind of thing can do that?” Jamison’s eyes are wide, waiting for Jesse to offer some sort of theory like many of the others have. But Jesse doesn’t have a theory. He just knows that whatever is out there is dangerous, and the others really shouldn’t go back out. The only problem being- going back is their only way to (hopefully) get signal.

On the shore, Reinhardt declines a sea urchin from a woman with short pink hair. Across the beach, Sombra reads a comic book and ignores her dad. The man with dreads talks to a Korean girl near a dead body that has yet to be moved.

Jesse’s eyes find anything they can to keep him distracted from knowing that he’s the one that pointed out the way to get signal that could lead to the death of everyone that goes. Sure, they probably would have figured the mountain as an option sooner or later, but he feels guilty nonetheless.

They don’t even have a way to defend themselves.

“Ah hell,” he heaves a sigh, standing back up, “Guess I’m goin’ on a hike today. You comin’ with?” 

Jamison had already hopped up alongside Jesse, nodding, “Of course! Where are we going?”

“Up there,” he points in the directions of the mountains, pushing his rolled sleeves further up, “Gotta get signal on the little radio thingy.”

“Oh,” with a quick nod, Jamison locks in his fate, “Okay.”

The group that had decided to go have already left, but it’s pretty easy to track them down. They only have a minute or two head start, and there’s only one clear path through the jungle right now. McCree treks after them, stepping loudly through the underbrush, followed by the uneven walk of Jamison.

Ahead, Hanzo, Satya, and the Korean girl Jesse saw on the beach walk single file, followed by the man with dreads lagging behind. He seems to be more concerned with seeing all the plants than staying caught up, but he doesn’t get out of sight.

Passing him, Jesse speeds up, pausing only to grab a decently sized stick on the ground.

“Decide to join us?” Hanzo raises a brow as Jesse passes him, taking the lead. Jamison falls into line behind Hanzo.

“Yeah, looks like it,” he uses the stick to shift plants out of the way as he walks.

“What changed your mind?” He sounds mildly curious, but nothing that comes out of his mouth sounds especially emotional.

Jesse shrugs, his focus ahead. He doesn’t have a proper answer that he’s comfortable sharing. Like saying that he feels better knowing that there’s a gun present to help protect them. Or that he feels bad for directing them this way despite the danger. “I’m a complex guy, Sweetheart,” he continues onward, “The name’s McCree, by the way.”

Hanzo shows obvious distaste for the nickname, wrinkling his nose up but not making an argument out of it.

For a short while, it’s quiet. Aside from the rustling of the trees, their footsteps, and the occasional bird calling, there’s no sound. They get far enough away from the beach that they can no longer hear the ocean lapping up against the shore.

The further into the jungle they go, the more actual decisions that Jesse has to make, and with decision making comes exhaustion. Even just hacking away at the underbrush with the stick he picked up is beginning to take a toll on him. Regardless, the view is spectacular. The sun shines down through the trees and hits the plants below in a light that almost looks photoshopped. They’re slowly ascending up the base of the nearest mountain, not yet high enough for it to be steep.

Beauty doesn’t hide the group's general demeanor, though. Excluding Jamison, everyone trudges through the jungle covered in sweat and unhappy. A few also seem to be a bit concerned with knowing that Thing could show up at any time and end their lives.

Jesse’s rather sudden exclamation puts them all edge, “Thank God!”

With a final swipe of his stick, he steps between two trees and escapes the grasp of the heavy jungle, into a field of overgrown grass, some of it taller than he is. There’s still trees scattered about, but the vegetation isn’t nearly as heavy as it has been. He spreads his arms out and drops the stick, silently rejoicing for getting out of the maze of a forest behind them.

“Wide open space,” Jesse sighs happily, turning and watching as the rest of the group follow his path and join him in the field. He points to Satya, “You should check the radio. Check for signal.”

“We are not going to have any reception yet,” she shakes her head.

Already, Jesse is tired of being told no. He didn’t just hike what was probably three miles through the jungle with a monster in it to go even further. “Tell ya’ what, just try it.”

“That would be a waste of the batteries,” Satya holds the transceiver up, “There is not much left.”

“I’m not askin’ you to keep it on all day,” Jesse leans his head back, annoyed.

“We are still blocked by the mountain-”

“Just check the damn radio!” Jesse only has the chance to look back down to Satya for a second before a rumbling from behind him distracts them all.

Jesse turns around, eyes wide in anticipation. The grass in the distance shakes, something erupting from the jungle on the other side of the clearing and towards them. With the height of the grass, they can’t see it. Everyone is frozen for a moment- it’s the man with dreads that finally speaks up- “The hell is that?”

The Korean girl next to him grabs onto his arm, “That’s a stupid question,” she sounds scared despite her sarcastic comment.

Hanzo’s eyes watch the grass intently, “Something is coming.”

“Coming towards us, I think,” Jamison gulps, standing just behind the Korean and Dreads. It’s the first time he actually seems intimidated.

Whatever is coming towards them is moving fast, ripping through the grass like it’s not even there. It grunts and snorts as it runs, kicking up dust in its path.

Hanzo reaches out and grabs Satya’s arm, tugging her hard enough that she loses her balance, “Everyone move!”

The group runs back towards the jungle, only Hanzo taking notice that Jesse stays behind. He looks back as he runs, stopping, “McCree, come on!”

It’s Satya’s turn to grab him now, keeping him going, “Leave him!”

“No, McCree!” His calls do nothing to budge Jesse as he stands his ground. The glare that he gives the grass in front of him is menacing, but with good reason.

Reaching behind his back, Jesse pulls the gun he’d found from the waist of his pants, holding it out in front of him with one hand. He clicks the safety off before slipping his finger onto the trigger, quickly unloading six bullets straight ahead into whatever is charging him.

As soon as it bursts through the grass in front of him, it’s clear he’s killed it. The last bullet lands right between its eyes just as it comes out, landing with a heavy thud. Jesse takes a step back, eyes widened. In front of him lies a bear. This would be odd enough to find on a desert island, but that isn’t what’s most concerning to him. This bear is white. Aside from places it’s fur is brown from dirt or red from blood, it’s pure white.

Behind him, the other’s have stopped, all opened mouthed in surprise. After a moment, they all start back towards Jesse, careful. The group crowds around, forming a small arc around the dead bear. 

“That’s a big bear…” The Korean is still right next to Dreads, but is no longer clinging to him.

Dreads glances at Hanzo, “You think that’s what killed the pilot?”

Hanzo’s eyes snap to Jamison, clearly blaming him for the spread of the earlier events, “No,” he shakes his head, looking back to the bear, “This is a tiny version, if it is anything.” His eyes scan up and down the corpse, brows furrowed so far that Jesse is beginning to get concerned. “This is a polar bear.”

“That can’t be a polar bea-” Dreads is cut off.

“It’s a polar bear,” Hanzo confirms in unison with Jesse, the two of them looking at each other.

The Korean girl is silent for a second, “But… Polar bears don’t live in the jungle, right?” She sounds like she’s questioning everything she’s ever come to know.

“No,” Jamison nods, “No, you’re spot on. They don’t. This is an absolute freakshow. And that’s coming from me.”

Hanzo crosses his arms on his chest, looking to Satya for guidance. He’s certainly convinced himself they are the two most intelligent on this little trip. “Have you ever heard of anything like this?”

“No,” Satya shakes her head slowly, “No, this is… Polar bears don’t live near this far south.”

Dreads weakly gestures towards the body, “Well, this one does.”

“Did,” Jesse turns, looking at them, “Did. You’re welcome for that.”

Proud of himself, Jesse slips the pistol back into his waistband, prepared to start back towards the camp and give up on the transceiver.

“Where did that come from?” Hanzo holds an arm out to the side, using it to block Jesse’s path. He’s tough, you can tell that much from just looking at the man. Hanzo knows how to get what he wants, when he wants it, and what to do in nearly any situation. He isn’t afraid of Jesse, even if he clearly has a deadly weapon.

Stopping, Jesse offers him a small shrug, “Prob’ly bear village. How the hell am I supposed t’ know?”

“Not the bear, the gun,” Hanzo glares at him, intense.

“I got it off one of the bodies,” Jesse says it pretty simply, telling the truth. He sees no way that lying could possibly get him out of the situation without making it worse.

Satya steps closer to Hanzo, a hand on her hip, “Off one of the bodies?”

It does seem suspicious, Jesse is aware, but that doesn’t keep him from defending himself mercilessly. He nods, mocking Satya’s accent, “Yeah, one of the bodies.”

“People don’t carry guns on planes,” the Korean girl chips in, stating the obvious, but making a point regardless.

“They do if they’re a US Marshal, Sweetcheeks” Jesse throws his hands into the air, exasperated, “There was one on the plane! 

“How do you know that!?” Hanzo demands this more forcefully than anything else he’s said so far, getting closer to Jesse in an attempt to intimidate him. Unfortunately, Hanzo stands half a head shorter than the cowboy, and he doesn’t have a Glock 22 under his belt.

“‘Cause I saw a guy lyin’ there with an ankle holster. So I took the gun, thought it might come in handy,” he gestures back towards the dead bear, “Guess what? I just shot a bear!”

Hanzo points a finger into the center of Jesse’s chest, pushing him back a step with the force he puts behind it, “Why do you think he was a Marshal?”

His head tips back with a sigh as he pulls a badge from the front pocket of his jeans, “Because he had a badge. Took that too. Thought it was cool!” He holds it in his palm as he steps back up to Hanzo, not letting himself be pushed around, “Listen, sweetheart. You should be kissin’ my ass after what I just did for you all!”

The look Jesse gets in return is nothing short of deadly, and if it weren’t for Satya stepping in front of Hanzo, he’s sure he’d have been pounced on by now. It’s not hard to understand why they’re all angry with him. He’s been hiding a gun, and he’s not being terribly kind about it now. But they’ve all survived a plane crash. None of them are quite right in the head just yet, surely. Even Jesse himself is being a little more hostile than usual.

“I know who you are,” Satya’s thick accent breaks the short silence that had fallen. Her eyes narrow, “You are the prisoner.”

There’s a slight lapse in conversation as the accusation sinks in. Everyone recalls the handcuffs found earlier, and the uproar that they caused. Likewise, everyone knows that it was Satya that got most of the blame.

“I’m th’ what?” Jesse decides to make sure he heard her right. Sure, he’s been in a pair of handcuffs a time or two before, and he’s definitely sat in a cell long enough to be considered a ‘prisoner’, but he isn’t the one that was on the plane.

Satya explains herself without hesitation, like she’s practiced this speech before, “You found the gun on a US Marshal? Yes, I believe you. But, you only knew that it was there because you were the one he was bringing back to the States. The handcuffs were on you.” 

It’s her turn to poke at his chest, but this time he doesn’t step back. Jesse stands firmly in place and holds his ground. Hanzo’s eyes follow Satya’s finger all the way up to Jesse’s face, looking him over carefully. He doesn’t look like he believes her. Something in his eyes tells him otherwise. 

Their eyes catch for a moment, Hanzo’s deep brown meeting Jesse’s dull ones, and the whole conflict around them melts away. In Hanzo’s eyes, the cowboy sees something that he’s seen in his own one too many times. Something he has yet to identify, though it plagues him every-damn-day of his life.

“It is not him,” Hanzo lays a hand on Satya’s shoulder, keeping her from continuing on with her accusations. She whips around, betrayed.

“What do you mean? How could it possibly be anyone else-”

“I saw him get on the plane. He was alone, and his hands were not bound,” Hanzo past her, to Jesse.

Satya turns back around, defeated, but still suspicious, “I am going to keep an eye on you.”

“Be as suspicious of me as I am of all you,” Jesse leans down a bit, causing her to take a small step back, “I’m the criminal, you’re th’ terrorist, we all play a part. Tell you what, Hanzo, you can be the island ninja!” Shaking his head in disbelief, Jesse turns around, once again prepared to walk away from the situation and go back to the beach.

He gets no more than two steps away before the gun is suddenly yanked from his belt, and when he whips around, he sees Hanzo pointing it directly at him. His finger rests gently on the trigger, and Jesse realizes his luck that he wasn’t shot when it was grabbed. He’d never turned the safety back on.

“Who here knows how to use a gun?” Eyes locked with Jesse’s, Hanzo stands strong.

The group is silent, and out of everyone, it’s Jamison that offers help. “I think you just, y’know, pull th’ trigger.”

“I want to take it apart!” The sudden bark of Hanzo’s voice in retort scares all of them, even Jesse, who shuffles back.

Still right next to him, Satya slowly reaches out, watching Hanzo closely as she does so, “There’s a button here,” she presses it and the magazine falls to the ground, “There’s still a bullet in the chamber.”

Impatient after everything, Hanzo doesn’t listen to her further instructions on what to do next, instead turning to the bear and firing the last bullet into its abdomen. That’s enough to shut Satya up. Instead of continuing on, she silently leans down and picks up the magazine from the grass, sliding it into her back pocket for safe keeping. 

“Well damn, Sweetheart. The things already dead, ya’ didn’t have t’ go and disrespect it like that,” Jesse’s smile is back in full effect, already poking fun at the situation and lightening it up in his own way.

“You are not one to speak of disrespect,” Hanzo points his glare Jesse’s way once again, holding out the useless gun to him. Jesse takes it back anyway, putting it right where he’d had it before. Hands empty, Hanzo points the way the bear had come from, where they were headed in the first place. “We need to keep going.”

Jesse's eyes hold on him for a moment, watching him move through the tall grass in silence. Jamison is the first to follow him again, taking off without hesitation and coming up to his side. He seems like the type to get friendly with everyone, no matter the situation. Dreads and the Korean girl go next, and then Satya follows as well. Sawyer quickly went from leading the pack, to walking alone in the back. 

They fall back into a comfortable silence as soon as they're out of the clearing and back into the thick of the jungle, letting the natural ambience take over and lull them into a less tense hike.

It's a good while before they get to anything that even remotely looks like a mountain, and it's a surprise when they do. They come to a rock wall, jagged stones sticking out in every direction, building up to make a cliff at least ten feet above their heads.

Jamison is the first to brave the climb, grabbing onto a rock without hesitation and pulling himself up. He slips almost immediately, the stones proving to still be wet from the sudden rain earlier. He falls straight onto his ass, but hops right back up unharmed.

Hanzo goes next, much more carefully than the energetic Aussie. He scales the wall with no problems, leaning over and looking down at them once he makes it to the top. Dreads also gets up fairly quickly, and Jesse learns that his name is actually Lucio when the Korean girl pokes fun at his bright green underwear poking out from the waist of his shorts.

She and Jesse himself are the only two that really struggle with it. Jamison just continues attempting to scramble up in various different ways until he actually makes it, leaving the two of them at the bottom struggling. Neither of them are particularly good at climbing, it seems.

“You guys could just help us,” the girl huffs, carefully slipping her foot into a small groove in the rocks, “Or at least me.”

Jesse gives her the side eye, “Hey now, let’s not forget I did kill a bear for you ungrateful shits.” Regardless, he’s the one that steps up and helps her. He crouches down, locking his fingers together and offering his hands for her to step on. She watches him hesitantly for a second, but goes for it, shifting her weight to Jesse and allowing her to nearly throw her to the top. She’s lighter than Jesse thought, and he overcompensates when lifting her. Luckily, Lucio grabs onto her hands and helps her up the rest of the way.

That just leaves Jesse.

“Y’know,” he puts his hands on his hips, “In the cartoons, y’could just hold onto each other’s ankles and make a human rope. But somethin’ tells me you ain’t keen on that idea.”

Hanzo shakes his head, “This is a waste of time. Why should we not leave you here?”

“Well, Pumpkin, maybe ‘cause I’m the one with the other half of the gun. Wouldn’t want ‘cha to run into anymore bears without it.”

“That’s-” Hanzo doesn’t get to give Jesse a proper comeback before Satya interrupts.

“We have signal,” she doesn’t sound nearly as calm as she has this entire time, but Jesse can’t see what she’s doing. The others can though, and they all whip around and disappear from sight in a matter of seconds. They’re nothing but a jumble of voices, all excitedly shouting to each other at once.

All that gets them to shut up is a loud, screeching sound that comes from what Jesse can only assume is the transceiver.

“What is that?” Hanzo asks.

“Feedback,” Satya explains, and Jesse is pretty sure she’s the one that turns down the volume while she talks. 

Jesse scratches his head, staring down at the ground and settling on listening to the conversation, piecing together what he can’t see with what he can hear.

“Feedback from what?” Lucio waits until after Satya has stopped the feedback before he asks.

There’s a barely audible sigh, “That, I do not know.”

“Maybe it’s broke,” Jesse tilts his head back, jumping into the conversation. Above, there’s a moment of silence. They’d probably forgotten about him.

“No,” Satya answers. Jesse can imagine her shaking her head. “It is not broken. We can’t transmit because something else already is.”

As this new knowledge sinks in, there’s yet another silent moment. A chorus of “what”s and “where”s follows. Hanzo apparently offers the only question that Satya can actually answer. “Can we listen to it?”

“I can try to find the frequency,” she does whatever she must to get the screeching sound back on, and soon Jesse can hear the feedback wavering as she switches through frequencies rapidly. There’s nothing but static.

“There’s not gonna be another transmission,” Jesse sighs, stepping closer to the cliff and leaning his head against the cool rocks.

“McCree,” Hanzo looks over the edge, “Stay quiet.”

“Do you think it could be a rescue team?” Lucio is quiet, focused.

Then there’s a new voice. One quieter than theirs, coming from the transceiver. It’s frantic, enough to let Jesse know it’s definitely not a rescue team. It’s also not in English. None of them can understand it.

They’re all silent as they listen, accessing what they hear, trying to figure it out.

“What language is that?” Jesse turns, facing the jungle.

“That’s… Arabic,” the Korean girl is the only one that knows, and even she seems unsure.

“Great, we get a transmission and we can’t even understand what th’ hell it’s sayin’,” Jesse clenches his jaw, frustrated. “We ain’t ever gettin’ off this island.”

Lucio tries to make things better though, pointing out something useful. “Hana spent almost a year in Morocco for a tournament,” he pauses, “She knows a little.”

Jesse finally learns her name. Hana.

“Let me listen,” she is quiet, listening to what’s left of the transmission before a robotic male voice plays. It’s louder than the woman’s voice, and distracts them temporarily from translating.

“Iteration one-seven-two-nine-four-five-three-one.”

When the woman’s voice comes back, it begins to slowly fade out. The batteries are dying.

“No,” Satya groans, “The batteries will not last much longer. You have to listen now.”

Hana mumbles a few “okay”s, listening intently to the recording that plays before the male voice plays again.

“Iteration one-seven-two-nine-four-five-three-two.”

“How much time do we have?” Hanzo sounds concerned, knowing that they’re running out of time. Satya doesn’t answer, though Jesse can just barely hear her whispering numbers to herself.

Hana does something similar, whispering a word here and there in a jumble of Arabic, English, and what Jesse is almost certain is Korean. She’s trying to translate it, but it’s clear she is barely conversational in the language.

“What in the hell is going on up there?” Jesse raises his voice, trying to get an idea of their chances.

“She’s saying ‘please’,” Hana breathes, “Please help, please help us.”

Whatever she’s hearing, it must not be good. She’s silent for a good while, everyone waiting, wanting to know what she does.

“Please help us… I’m alone… The others are dead… It killed them,” she stops, breathing out slowly, “ It killed them all.”

The battery dies before she finishes, and leaves them in complete and utter silence. Not even the sounds of the jungle around them seem to be present right now. They’re left with only their thoughts and each other, knowing that something has happened here before that was not at all good.

“Sixteen years,” Satya’s voice breaks the chilling quiet, “The message was repeating. The iterations. If the counter is right, it has been playing on repeat for… sixteen years.”

“So…” Lucio starts, “Someone else was stranded here.”

“Someone must have come for them,” Hanzo sounds different. Less sure of himself.

Jesse runs a dirty hand through his hair, stressed, “If someone came, why’s it still playin’?”

They’re all equally freaked, processing it however they can. Above, Hana and Lucio exchange glances, speaking without words. Jamison chews at fingernails that have long since been chipped and gnawed down so far that nothing else can come off. Satya and Hanzo keep their stress to themselves.

“Guys,” Lucio turns to the others, “Where are we?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Watch out,” Jamison grabs Hanzo’s shoulder, yanking him out of the way of a low hanging branch. He’s been out of it since they started back towards the beach, lost in his thoughts. This isn’t the first time the Aussie has dragged him back to reality. “You alright, mate?”

“I am fine, thank you,” Hanzo nods sharply, brushing past Jesse and Jamison to get ahead of the group.

They haven’t been walking long, but it feels like it’s been hours already. With the new information they have about the island they’re all unsettled, carrying the burden of knowing that they’ll have to break the news to the rest of the survivors when they get back.

Lucio looks to the sky through the leaves above, nudging Hana with his shoulder, “It’s getting dark.”

“Then pick up the pace,” Jesse says it like it’s obvious, trekking ahead after Hanzo. He wants to get back to the beach, maybe drag some of that bear back with him, and eat. He hadn’t prepared anything before deciding to come, and only brought the clothes on his back, and the gun.

Satya sighs, stopping near a particularly large tree. “We should make a camp here,” she offers.

Jesse laughs, “I’m not stopping,” he turns, looking back at them. Hanzo stops too, turning to watch the exchange, “Y’all have a nice cookout.”

“Excellent. Walk through the jungle in the dark,” Satya rolls her eyes.

“Ooooh,” Jesse makes his voice waver, imitating a ghost, “You think th’ trees are gonna get us?”

“No, McCree, what is knocking down the trees will get you,” she looks to Jamison for confirmation, but he just gives her a little shrug.

Jesse reaches for the gun in the back of his jeans, pulling it out and holding it up, “If you’re so worried about me, why don’t y’just give me the clip back—”

“Put the gun back in your pants, McCree,” Hanzo joins them, one corner of his lips just barely turned up, and stands at Jesse’s side, “Satya is right. We need to stop here. We will have the mountain at our backs, so we are protected from at least one side. If we continue on, we will not make it back to the beach.”

Grinning, Jesse slips the gun back where he’s been keeping it, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Trust me,” Hanzo gives him a hard pat on the back before moving past him. He starts picking up sticks, and Jamison joins him as soon as he realizes what he’s doing.

They need a fire. Of course it is Jesse left with the job of finding the wood to make said fire, wandering around the few large trees they’ve settled in between, searching for the rest of the needed sticks. Jamison makes it his personal responsibility to make a circle in the dirt for a fire pit, on his hands and knees as he digs a shallow hole, covering himself in even more filth than he already had.

By the time Jesse flips his lighter shut, the fire is already burning fairly impressively for what it is. Jamison showed his worth for building it, that much is certain.

And now they all sit around this fire, the lot of them trying their best to relax and forget their worries for now. Satya dropping a rock the size of two of her hands is all that grabs their attention. She picks up one of the sticks from the pile waiting to be added to the fire, sticking the end into the flame and using it as a torch.

She points to the rock with it, “This is Australia.” She then holds the stick up, gesturing to the fire on the end that bathes her face in warm light. “This is our plane.”

Whilst gathering sticks and making a pit, Jamison and Hanzo shared their story of what happened when they found the pilot. They tell of how he was ripped out of the windshield of the cockpit, and of the blood that splattered everywhere as he went. They tell of what they learned.

“Two days ago, we took off from Sydney. Every commercial airline from there to Los Angeles follows the same path northeast,” Satya mimics the flight path, flames trailing behind the stick as it’s dragged along. “Did the pilot say when they lost communication?”

Hanzo sits on the opposite side of the fire as Jesse, and has been staring directly at the soles of the god awful cowboy boots he wears since they’d lit it. “Six hours in. He had turned around for Fiji.”

Jamison rips one of his work boots off, tossing it towards Satya, who makes a point of doing anything but touching it.

“It’s Fiji,” Jamison smiles, innocent.

Satya is quiet for a moment, full of distaste as she nudges the boot into place with the toe of her sneaker. “Right.”

She re-angles the path of the stick, adjusting it to be on the right path. She starts it’s simulated flight again. “So we changed course, but nobody knew that we did. If we were as far off course as you say, that would put us somewhere here,” the fire licks the grass between the shoe and the stone before Satya snuffs it out, then taking it back to the original path. The distance seems like it goes on forever, even in the miniature version. “They think we are here.”

Jamison raises his hand a bit as he reaches forward to get his shoe,”They'll find us though. They got those satellites that can take pictures of licence plates from space.”

“Planes do not have licence plates,” Hanzo shakes his head, “Satellites can take photos, but they must be told where to point to take them.”

“Bollocks.”

“Hey, howdy, really liked the puppet show. It was great. We're in the middle of damned nowhere, already figured that out. How about we talk about the other thing. The transmission on that lil’ radio. Where that Arabic chick said everyone is dead. And that's been on a loop for how long, pumpkin?” Jesse looks at Hanzo, getting something along the lines of a death glare in return.

“Sixteen years,” he sounds annoyed.

“Right,” Jesse leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, “Let’s talk about that.”

Unsettled glances are exchanged around the fire, everyone waiting for someone else to come up with some sort of answer.

“We need to tell the others when we get back,” Lucio offers, looking from person to person for a reaction. It’s Hana, right next to him, that gives him what he wants.

“Tell them what?” She holds up her hands, “I'm not a translator. I barely understood that thing.”

“She's right,” Satya mumbles, looking up from the diagram she had made on the ground, “We are not going to tell them anything when we get back.”

Lucio is getting more and more worked up about the situation. He goes from tapping his foot to bouncing his whole leg, “Why would we do that?”

“To relay what we think we heard without fully understanding it will cause panic. People do not like questions that they don't have the answers to. If we tell them what we heard, it will take away their hope of being rescued. Hope is…” She pauses, meeting Lucio’s eyes, “It is a dangerous thing to lose.”

Hanzo is quiet when he interrupts the chilling silence that floats between them as this settles in.

“We lie.”

Satya nods. This clearly isn't something to be disputed. All of them exchange looks across the fire, and just like that, they've become conspirators.

The ones who know.

Jamison pokes at the fire with a stick, finding comfort in the cracking and popping-- the bright light. 

It's minutes before another word is said, but the time feels more like it drags on for an hour. Lucio’s leg slowly ceases its bouncing, and as he relaxes, he leans back against a tree. 

“We should get some rest if we're gonna be hiking all the way back when the sun comes up,” he offers, glancing between Satya and Hanzo for approval.

“I'm one step ahead a’ you,” Jesse interlocks his fingers behind his head and leans back, all the way to the ground. His actions actually manage to break a little of the tension, getting a laugh out of Jamison and smiles from Hana and Lucio.

It isn't long before they all follow suit-- finding a comfortable position and settling in for the night. Though, Jamie does lay dangerously close to the fire.

\- - - 

The dying embers of the campfire cast a dim light across Satya’s sleeping face, making the sweat glow almost like makeup.

She lies with her back against the backpack she had worn on the hike out, her arms crossed loosely on her chest.

A hand slowly reaches towards the waistband of her jeans, fingers just barely pinching the top of the clip of the gun that sits flush against her hip. As the hand begins to slide the clip out, Satya stirs.

“Wh- Hey!” She is wide awake within seconds, scrambling to her feet and looking right at the innocent face of Lucio.

He carefully slides the clip into the gun, which he must have already taken from Jesse, “Huh.”

The commotion Satya caused by getting up has awaken the others, half of which stand and back away.

“What are you doing!?” Satya’s brows are raised so high it seems like they might just take flight off her face, 

“I'm standing guard,” Lucio shrugs, looking at Hanzo, who is standing surprisingly calmly between Satya and Jesse, “You heard what they said is out there, rigjt?”

“You took my gun off me, boy?” Jesse has his own concerns, his jaw clenched tight as he keeps himself from tackling him right then and there.

Hana, who slowly rises from where she had been sitting, rolls her eyes. “You've never even held a gun. You don't believe in guns,” he looks around at the others, “He protests.”

“This is different-" He tries to defend himself.

“Give it back to me,” Satya holds out her hand, but this just starts a whirlwind of protests from nearly everyone.

“Oh yeah, give the gun to the architect. She'll protect us!” Jesse huffs.

“I'll keep it,” Lucio offers 

Hana waves her hands around to grab everyone's attention before pointing at Hanzo, who stands calmly amongst the chaos. “We should give it to him.”

All the fighting stops as they consider this, and Jamison is the first to nod.

Hanzo just stands there. Says nothing.

“I am fine with that,” Satya looks at Lucio, “Are you?”

Lucio doesn't seem to want to give away the gun now that he has it-- but he's outnumbered and doesn't really know how to use it. Besides, Hanzo makes sense.

Turning the gun around, Lucio holds the barrel and offers it to Hanzo. There's a pause before he reaches out and takes it, staring at it in his hand for a moment before he stuffs it into the back of his dirty dress pants.

He has yet to say a word.

\- - -

Reinhardt runs across the beach, kicking up sand like a motorcycle kicking up dust.

He isn't exactly a gazelle-- his running looks, and even sounds, more like stomping. He's such a big guy, it isn't surprising.

The makeshift infirmary tent, made out of the yellow, emergency slide from the plane, houses the two injured men from the crash. As Reinhardt barrels through the parted doors, he wakes the blonde doctor that had dozed off over the suitcase holding all the medical supplies they managed to salvage.

“Angela,” he huffs, out of breath, “They are back.”

The two of them exit the tent, joining the crowd of some forty other survivors that hurry towards the treeline and surround the group that has returned. Specifically, Satya.

“The transceiver failed to pick up a signal,” she skips introductions and goes right to what matters, “We were not able to send out a call for help.”

This news lands in two ways. First on the people who know, as they commit to this lie for the sake of the survivors.

Then, on everyone else. Their fear practically radiates off of them-- unsettled glances being shot back and forth between friends and strangers alike.

“We are not giving up,” Satya reassures them, “If we gather up electronics, cell phones, laptops, I can try to boost the signal and we can try again.

A man towards the back of the crowd catches Jesse's eye. His white (almost blond) hair contrasts greatly with the slash slash across his face. It looks fresh enough to have happened during the crash, just starting to scab over and try to heal.

He looks between the Knowers critically, studying them. Jesse takes note.

“This may take some time, so for now we should begin to ration out supplies. If it rains again, we will collect water-” Satya continues on while she has everyone's attention.

The castaways begin to nod, feeling a sense of purpose. Satya’s attempts to organize are nothing but a dull drone in the background as the doctor, Angela, approaches. She manages to nudge her way through the crowd up to the front, where she stares down Hanzo until he notices her.

He raises a brow, as if to ask what she wants, and she motions for him to follow as she peels away from the group.

Jesse watches as two of them move away, starting down the beach and stopping just far enough away that they can't be heard. Still, he tries to eavesdrop anyway.

Angela looks almost hopeful as Hanzo speaks, but that hope turns to confusion rather suddenly. Jesse pays close attention to their faces, only able to imagine what they're talking about. Is it the gun? The message they heard? Maybe the polar bear?

Jesse doesn't know for sure, but he's suspicious. Curious. Especially with how disappointed the doctor looks when she walks away, going back to the yellow tent alone. 

As he allows himself to focus on the rest of the survivors again, it becomes clear that they have all shifted gears.

People are doing something. The waiting game is over for now. Sure, none of them have given up the hope of being rescued, but they're dealing with knowing that it hasn't come yet.

Reinhardt catches up with Angela and strides down the beach with her, talking in his booming voice about the medicines for the man with shrapnel embedded in his torso.

A short Asian woman drags luggage over to a huge girl with pink hair. Reyes talks to Hana. Jamison pushes a wheelchair piled high with luggage down the beach, stopping to take a suitcase from a pregnant woman. The suspisuous man with a scab across his face peels off to the edge of the forest with Sombra, sitting down at a checkerboard.

As the group slowly breaks up to go their separate ways, Jesse goes to the plane seats he had claimed for himself the previous day. 

With a huff, he falls onto his butt, leaning his head against the back of the seat.

Three days. They've been stranded on this god forsaken island for three days, and they've already encountered some huge monster, a polar bear, and an SOS that's been playing for sixteen years. Needless to say, things aren't looking too good.

From where Jesse sits he can just barely hear Sombra and the older man, but he listens as hard as he can anyway. He leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees only after pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“It's a lie,” he older man mumbles, and it immediately confirms the lurking suspicions that Jesse had.

“I thought you said it was a ‘bluff’,” Sombra interjects, curious.

“Bluffing, lying, it's all the same in these games.”

“Could you teach me?”

Theres a short pause where Jesse imagines the older man nods before he starts to explain. “If you want to be a good player, you need to be able to spot a liar… and the only way to spot a liar is to first find their tell.”

Jesse's eyes float around the beach as he talks, spotting examples of every “tell" he gives.

Jamison talks to the pregnant woman, yammering wildly about something, while his hand opens and closes into a fist.

“Easiest tell are the ones people do with their body. They tense up or curl their toes, maybe make a fist.”

Hana and Lucio walk down the beach, talking and lightly arguing about something. Their bickering is light, but it's still present.

“Some people make the amateur mistake of getting defensive when they're lying, sometimes even hostile about it.”

Satya directs groups of survivors to put together tarps to catch rain, working tirelessly.

“More experienced players use distraction to keep the attention off their cards.”

Unable to find an example for the next, Jesse can only imagine that it must be him. Sitting alone and seemingly staring off at nothing as smoke rolls up from the end of his cig.

“Others avoid contact all together. When they get a good hand, they isolate themselves, because they know they might not be able to hide the truth. And some people…”

Jesse's eyes settle on Hanzo, walking down the beach by himself with two suitcases, taking them to the growing pile near the medical tent.

“Some people, you just can't read at all.”

As the poker conversation begins to drone on, slowly turning into talk of the actual game, Jesse let's his gaze linger on Hanzo. 

He drops the suitcases on the pile, turning towards the tent only for Reinhardt to step out and nearly barrel him over. All Jesse can hear from where he sits is the startled yell from Rein, but nothing else. It's obvious that the big guy is on edge though.

Jesse would kill to know why.

It doesn't take long for the situation to escalate. As Rein points to the wrecked portion of the plane, Hanzo turns enough for him to spot the handle of the pistol poking out of his waistband, his shirt having ridden up at some point.

Reinhardt looks like he may just shit himself right then and there. Only a few more words are exchanged before he does his little stomp-run away, carrying an empty pitcher to get water from where Satya had previously collected some from the rain.

Still, despite the potential trouble of someone else knowing about the gun, Jesse finds himself more curious about the plane than what Rein will do. He pointed at it for a reason, surely. So, he stands and starts toward the damn thing.

He's already braved the bodies once. Three day old corpses can't be too terribly different than fresh ones. Jesse has a strong stomach and a deep desire to find some treasure, and the middle of the plane is the most promising place for such things to be.

Just like before, he stands at the bottom and looks up into the brutal mess of the plane. Bodies are already beginning to swell, discolored and stuck in odd positions thanks to riggamortis.

It's like he's looking into a horror movie. The darkening sky overhead and the quiet thunder in the background doesn't help.

Clenching his jaw, Jesse grabs hold of the first chair, starting his way up the incline. He breezes past all of the cases he remembers opening, deciding to go from the top down. He only stops once he's at the last two sets of seats.

From here, he can peek over the jagged metal of the plane and see the whole beach, but he'd rather not think about the height when he's in an unstable hunk of plane.

Instead, he starts looking for more goodies. He grabs a backpack that's lodged under a seat, unzipping it and dumping out everything he doesn't want. Which is everything,really, because this was clearly used as a baby bag. Its filled with nothing but diapers, pacifiers, and formula. No thanks.

He swings the now empty bag onto his shoulder, supporting himself by pressing his boots against top of the seats in front of him.

In the crash the plane was practically turned upside down, so now the overhead compartments are level with his ankles. Or-- rather-- his butt. After all, it is at such an angle that he has to basically sit against the ceiling to stay upright. 

Pulling open the first compartment, he’s greeted with a treasure trove of cigarettes. The bags inside belonged to heavy smokers, as full of tobacco as is allowed on a plane.

Jesse stuffs them into his bag like a starving dog eating scraps.

Continuing down the plane, he focuses on his right side, pulling open every compartment and bag he can find. Surprisingly, he gets a rather nice haul. More little bottles of alcohol survived the crash by landing in or on bags, and many people brought their electronics on board.

There's not much use for laptops of phones here, especially if they end up stranded for just as long as that Arabic woman was.

Still, Jesse can recall Satya saying something about electronics, so he takes the bare minimum. Flip phones and laptop batteries. He even manages to get a couple mp3 players and some headphones. He takes the Walkman he finds while he's at it.

Among the electronics and alcohol, he also manages to find a flashlight, as well as a couple books and crossword puzzles. See-- if he's going to be stranded on an island for who knows how long, he needs entertainment.

The only thing that takes his attention away from the goodies he's uncovering is a tiny light down below. He looks down, leaning around the seats to see Angela standing at the bottom of the plane with a pen-light. She wears a bandana tied over the bottom half of her face, seemingly unbothered by the death that surrounds them. She just pops open a compartment on the opposite side of the plane, sighing when she finds it empty. So, she begins to climb up much like he had.

As Jesse slinks back to work, he knocks his elbow into the hard wall, causing a loud bang.

Angela immediately stops, and Jesse can see her turn her head and look around.

That gives him an idea.

Carefully, he pulls his lighter from his pocket, kicking the wall with the tip of his boot.

Bang. Angela must know that something is in here now. She turns her light in his direction, and its its just bright enough for her to catch a fleeting glimpse of movement. 

Bangbang.

Jesse kicks again, twice, and god he must look like one of the bodies.

Angela stands there, motionless, until Jesse flicks on his lighter right below his face, looking like he's telling a scary story around a fire. This makes her jump.

“Boo,” Jesse chuckles, pulling the light away a little and giving the area a bit of brightness.

Pulling down the bandana, Angela looks pissed, “What are you doing in here?”

The bag on Jesse's shoulder is practically overflowing now, and as he holds it up and shakes it for her to see, the sound of glass clinking together can be heard. “Trick or treating. Same as you.”

“You're looting,” Angela doesn't sound like she wants to put up with his shit, but that doesn't stop him.

“You say potato…”

“What is in that bag?” She stops him before he can finish.

Jesse shrugs his shoulder, shifting the bag back to where it was, “Booze, smokes, couple Playboys. What's in yours?”

“Medicine.”

“Well that about sums it up, don't it?”

The look of disapproval that comes to the doctor's face is enough to stop a man in his tracks, “Do you do this at home? Steal from the dead?”

“Free island, amiga,” Jesse raises his brows, “Don’t hear them complainin’... oh, wait--" He holds his hand up to his ear, listening. “Nope, they're cool.”

“Of course,” Angela nods, “You may as well take their wallets too, right?”

This actually gets Jesse to laugh, which confuses her a little. “What good’s money gonna do me? Sister, you gotta wake up and smell the whale shit here. Rescue ain't comin’. You're wastin’ your time trying to save a guy who-- last time I checked-- had a piece of metal the size of my head stickin’ outta his bread basket. Lemme ask you… How many a’ those pills you gonna use to fix him up?”

Angela clenches her jaw, looking up at him with steely eyes. She doesn't seem the type to give up easily. “As many as it takes.”

“Yeah?” Jesse raises his brows, “How many you got?”

There's a certain, twisted logic to Jesse's words, and Angela considers them as he climbs down and slips past her, almost daring her to do something.

“Youte not lookin’ at the big picture, Doc. You're still livin’ back in civilization.”

“Yes?” She turns her head to look at him, “And where are you?”

“Me?” Jesse grins, charming, “I'm in the wild.”

And he moves on by.

Jesse grew up down south, surrounded by nothing but desert and the occasional dry-ass forest for miles. He didn't have friends, or even siblings. His parents hardly had time to pay attention to him.

Needless to say, he could have grown up much happier, but that's not the point.

He spent eighteen years messing around outside on his own. Fixing up old cars, chasing down lizards, playing with his dog.

He's accustomed to the “wild”, but his kind of wild is a dry expanse of nothing. He's a little out of his element on a tropical island.

Slipping out of the wreckage of the plane is an easy task, however, and he zips up his bag once he's back on the ground. He drags his boots through the sand all the way back to his little setup. Carefully putting down the bag behind his recycled chairs.

It's barely fifteen minutes before the thunder he heard earlier starts getting closer and louder, and soon enough another rainstorm begins.

The tarps that Satya had instructed people set up catch water like horse troughs, holding practically an entire bathtub’s worth of fresh water. That's what Jesse finds himself paying attention to as people scramble to find shelter for the second time since they've crash landed.

Slabs of metal sticking out if the sand serve as roofs for some, while others huddle under tarps they had set up before.

This time, Jesse doesn't go to Satya’s shelter. Instead, he picks up his backpack and stands, scanning the beach for an opportune place to hold up until the rain blows past.

His eyes land on Reyes and Sombra, sitting under a particularly large hunk of metal, attempting to patch up little punctures in the “roof" with pieces of a shredded tarp.

They will do.

Jesse trudges through the rain and sand slowly, walking across the beach and right to the Reyes shelter, dropping his bag at Sombra’s side before he ducks down and sits under the shelter.

“Howdy,” he sighs, crossing his legs to keep them out of the rain.

His sudden presence spooks Reyes a bit, but Sombra is unphased. She's too invested in the book on her lap, staring at diagrams of what looks to be some sort of armor. All of the words on the page are German, so Jesse can't be certain what it is.

“Hey,” Reyes grunts, giving up on the last hole in the metal and shifting from his knees to his butt. He doesn't look to happy.

“Don’t mind me. Just pretend I ain't even here,” Jesse smiles, “Quiet as a mouse.”

Obviously, Jesse is not as quiet as a mouse. Nowhere close, really. But he does keep his mouth shut long enough for Reyes fo nudge Sombra and start talking to her.

“Who's that guy you've been hanging out with?” He raises a brow, suspicious.

Sombra doesn't even look away from the book, “What guy?”

“You know,” Reyes sighs, “Who's face got all scratched in the crash.”

“Oh,” now she looks up, nodding, “That's Jack.”

“Right. Jack. Does he have any kids?”

“Didn't say.”

“What did he say?” Reyes furrows his brows now. This guy seems protective, maybe a little overly so. But Jesse understands where he's coming from. Though from what he's seen and heard of the two of them, Jack and Sombra are just playing some innocent games.

Sombra shrugs, “I don't know.”

“What so you mean you don't know?”

“Some of it's a secret.”

Reyes doesn't like that one bit, if the way he leans forward and raises his voice says anything. “Did he tell you not to tell me?”

“No,” Sombra wrinkles her nose like even just the idea of that is ridiculous.

“Then what's the secret?”

She considers that for a moment, furrowing her little brows and pursing her lips. It seems like forever before she actually says anything. “Jack said that some sort of miracle happened to him.”

Another pause as Reyes takes this in, looking a little confused.

“Yeah. Well, a miracle happened to all of us, Sombra. We survived a plane crash,” he stops, his voice turning stern, “I don't want you to hang around him, got it?”

“Why not?” Sombra gets defensive now, closing her book and sliding it off her lap, “He’s my friend.”

“I'm your friend too,” he argues.

Jesse nearly stakes claim to his friendship too, but he resists the urge.

“If you were my friend, you’d find my dog.”

There's a certain sadness to Sombra’s voice now, and it's immediately clear that her apparently missing dog is what's bothering her the most. More than being stranded on an island. It looks like just hearing that tone breaks Reyes’ heart.

“Sombra--" he starts, scooting closer to his daughter, “I haven't given up on hour dog. I am going to do everything I can to find him, okay?”

Both Jesse's and Sombra’s eyes flick down in response to movement. His hand tensing, closing into a fist. Opening again.

Jesse doesn't blame her for being upset with him.

“No you won't.”

Reyes sounds a little surprised now-- unsure, “Yes, Sombra, I will.”

“You're bluffing.”

“I'm-- what?” Reyes is taken aback, not expecting that Sombra would have accused him of lying, or at least not so certainly.

“You don't care about him,” she shakes her head, looking away. He's done her wrong.

She's right, that much is painfully obvious now, but the guy is in too deep now. It might have been a lie thirty seconds ago, but now he's taking it personally.

“I am going to find your dog. As soon as it stops raining,” one more time, with feeling, “I will find your dog.”

Sombra isn't buying it, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

It's that precise moment that it stops raining. Reyes acknowledges this sad fact within seconds, looking astonished and frankly sort of mad about this. Now he will have to trudge through a wet, muddy jungle.

Yuck.

Jesse doesn't feel even the slightest bit empathetic for him. Got what was coming for him, for all Jesse cares. You can't just leave a dog for dead.

Even as the sky begins to brighten as the wind blows the storm clouds away, it's still getting late. It isn't exactly sunny anymore, and soon it’ll be dark. Not the best for searching for a dog, but that just sucks for Reyes.

“Well, I'll see you later, Pops. You best get going while you got some light to spare,” Jesse grins, siding fully with Sombra.

The look he gets from Reyes is deadly, but Sombra gives him a smug little wave and drives him off.

Jesse likes this girl.

As soon as her dad is gone, she pries open the German book again, flipping to a random page. Every page has some sort of design on it, whether it be armor or weapons. Jesse has no clue what it's for, but he will admit that some of it looks pretty cool.

He leans over just enough to get a clear view of the book, curious, “That's German, ain't it? You speak German?”

Sombra shakes her head, placing a slender finger on one of the pictures. It looks to be some kind of hammer. “I just think the pictures are cool,” she looks up at Jesse, “I speak Spanish.”

“Ahhh,” Jesse nods, understanding, “You know, I speak a little Spanish myself. My momma was straight from Mexico.”

“I didn't ask.”

“Uh-- Right,” Jesse silences himself. This kid is just a human shaped sass generator. Damn. “Tell you what, kid. I happen t’know of one big ass German on this here island. Maybe you can find him and ask him t’tell you just what in the hell that book is about.”

This gets her attention, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sombra closes the book once again, holding it against her chest, “Where is he?”

“I reckon I could tell you,” he pauses, mainly for dramatic effect, “But it'll cost ya’.”

“I'm not paying you just to find someone,” she rolls her eyes. Jesse can't imagine that she has money anyway.

“No cash. Just gotta promise me you'll go a little easier on the old man. We're on a desert island, he's probably doin’ his best,” Jesse holds out a hand, ready to strike up a deal. 

After a moment of consideration, Sombra accepts, giving a quick shake before she stands. “Where is he?”

“Been following around the doctor. Last time I saw him was at that big yellow tent,” he gestures vaguely towards the medical tent, telling her where to go to find Reinhardt.

He's pretty sure he’d said something about being German.

\- - -

Groans. Anguish. Incoherent shouts of pain. All of this spills outside of the medical tent, echoing across the beach for everyone to hear.

The sounds of suffering are getting to people in different ways.

Some people, like Jack, seem indifferent. Jamison is jittery. Reyes and Sombra walk across the beach to keep their minds off of it. Satya follows Angela around like a lost puppydog, trying to find a way to help.

Of course, everyone knows at this point that there's no saving the dying Marshal.

Jesse sits a couple feet away from the tent, staring out across the water and listening to snippets of conversation.

“The others are starting to get upset. They want to know what is going on in the tent,” Satya walks beside Angela, out of the tent and away towards one of the water tarps.

“I am trying to save his life,” the doctor puts it simply.

There's silence for a moment, only long enough for them to take another few steps, “Rumor has it… you are not able to.”

That's all he can hear before they get too far away, the painful grunts drowning their conversation out.

By now it's dark out, the only light coming from the moon, which is occasionally blocked by clouds. It's still light enough to see Hanzo.

He sits far down the beach, just out of the reach of the waves, and where the sounds of a man dying are much quieter. He looks to be making a fire, arranging sticks into a pyre carefully and deliberately.

Alone in his thoughts, whatever they might be.

Jesse pushes himself up, dusting sand off his hind end as he starts toward Hanzo. No use in being alone tonight. Everyone can use a little company when you're lost on an island.

Hanzo doesn't notice as he approaches, too busy pulling a matchbook out of his pocket, flipping it open just to find it empty. 

“Need a light?”

Jesse pulls his lighter from his own pocket, flicking the flint and lighting it.

Yeah, he's probably one of the last people Hanzo wants to see right now… but he nods. After all, you can't have a fire without something to light it.

The flame goes out before Jesse tosses the lighter to Hanzo. He catches it, leaning down to ignite the kindling at the bottom of the pyre. While he does so, Jesse settles down in the sand next to him, leaning back on his elbows. Getting comfortable.

“I took your lighter. It was not an invitation,” Hanzo’s voice is cold, even as his face is warmed by the fire.

Jesse chuckles, “Well look who's gettin’ all territorial.”

“McCree--"

“Fair enough,” he holds up his hands in surrender before he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He starts to tap out a smoke.

“Do not.”

Shaking his head, Jesse laughs. He likes this guy's spirit, he’ll admit. Maybe even just likes the guy himself.

But he still lights up anyway.

“I figured I'd thank you,” he talks around the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, taking a long drag before he takes it out and holds it between his fingers.

Hanzo just sits there silently, staring at the fire.

“You gonna ask me what for?” Jesse raises a brow.

“What for." Hanzo isn't a very cheerful man.

“Well--" Jesse shrugs lightly, taking another drag, “For taking that gun away from me.”

Hanzo turns his head now, defensive, “I did not take it away from--"

“-- Stickin’ outta your pants, ain't it?”

He just looks at Jesse. Shakes his head. He doesn't know what to think.

“Yep. Sure wouldn't wanna be the guy with that gun right now. ‘Cause everybody sittin’ out on that beach listening to that poor man scream all night knows what's gotta be done… and the only one who can do it is the one with that gun.”

For a moment, Jesse just gauges Hanzo’s disgust with the idea.

“Aww, don't play like you're surprised-- you ain't even trying to sell it. Hell, there's only one bullet left. It'd be damn near poetic.”

Still, Hanzo is silent. Once again lost in his thoughts. Jesse doesn't blame him though, he is suggesting killing a man.

“Don't be too tough on yourself, pumpkin. Some desicions are hard,” a beat, “Others ain't really desicions.”

Hanzo reacts when he hears this, a look in his eyes that Jesse can't quite identify when he looks at him.

“What?” Jesse leans forward.

“Nothing.”

It's not nothing. That much is painfully obvious. There's something going on in that head of his, and it isn't enjoyable. What exactly it is, Jesse doesn't know.

There's a good chance that he'll never know, despite just how badly he wants to. That bothers him. A lot.

Silence takes over the two of them, leaving them with the fire, the waves, and the dying man as background music. Surprisingly, it isn't so bothersome like this. At least not so much. 

It feels like forever that the two of them just sit there, not interacting or even recognizing that the other is there. By the time the silence is broken, Jesse has finished his cigarette.

“Excuse me.”

Both Jesse and Hanzo turn their heads around, the polite voice coming from Angela, who stands behind them with her hands clasped together.

“The marshal…” she looks at Hanzo, “He would like to talk to you.”

Interesting. Very, very interesting. Now, just what would he want to talk to Hanzo for, unless he knew him. Unless Hanzo had been on the plane with him.

There's a chance they could have just sat next to each other on the plane, but… it’s more likely that Hanzo had to.

The handcuffs that had been found-- they had to come from someone.

Jesse feels the joy of putting the last piece into a puzzle, looking back and forth between the doc and Hanzo with the slightest smile. God it feels nice to figure something out.

Without another word, Angela turns and walks away. Not to the tent, but to Rein, who sits alone eating.

Hanzo glances at Jesse, who holds up a finger to his lips. He knows his secret. Or, at least, he thinks he does. Hanzo furrows his brows, pushing himself up out of the sand to stand and go to the tent.

Jesse turns his head to watch him go, but he stops. Hanzo stands still a couple feet away, looking at the tent from a distance.

“McCree,” he looks back.

“Yeah?”

“Come with me.”

So he does.

Jesse stands himself, dropping his cigarette into the sand before he closes the distance between the two of them and begins walking at Hanzo’s side.

They approach silently, and Jesse only stops right outside of the tent. He doesn't think that it's something he should really he a part of, at least not now. This guy is dying and he asked specifically for Hanzo, so he doesn't need some cowboy to tag along. Hanzo says nothing about Jesse stopping outside.

There's a fire a couple yards away, which Jesse wanders up to and stands in front of. Jamison sits on the other side, bouncing his legs and staring into the fire so intensely that he doesn't even notice Jesse's presence.

Hanzo slips into the tent silently, but it's impossible to hear what's being said inside. After all, a dying man likely can't speak too loudly.

“Aye,” Jesse stares down at Jamison, “Anybody there?”

If the speed at which his entire head flicks up to meet his eyes is any indicator, yes, something is going on in his head. Who knows what.

“What's on your mind?”

Jamison stares for a minute, his eyes nearly crossed, before he answers, “Barbeque.”

And god, now that he's said that, Jesse is craving a nice hot rack of ribs.

“Fuck,” he shakes his head, chuckling, “You got the right idea. I'd kill for somethin’ other than airline food.”

Jamison nods, a smile growing on his face. The poor guy must be lonely, sitting over here looking insane, burning his eyes out with the bright fire. Jesse almost feels bad for him. Almost. He can't feel too bad for any one person, given the current situation. He needs to have enough empathy to go around.

A coughing fit from inside the tent grabs his attention, and he turns around just as Hanzo walks out. Straight to Jesse. He says nothing, just looks him in the eyes as he pulls the gun from his waistband and offers it to Jesse.

He knows what he wants him to do, he's sure. Hanzo doesn't need to use words to express that. As soon as the gun is out of his possession, he turns and walks away. Jesse just looks down at Jamison and shrugs before he goes into the tent. Jamie doesn't protest.

The inside of the medical tent is even smaller than he imagined. It's jam packed with suitcases, used both as tables and storage, and a row of plane seats is used at the bed on which the marshal lies. 

He looks bad. Sickly white, eyes closed, breathing ragged. There's no fixing him.

“Just do it,” he breathes, cracking open his eyes and looking at Jesse, “Please.”

The lack of pain medication is probably making him miserable. He can no doubt feel everything wrong with him. The piece of metal that's probably embedded itself in some of his organs included.

Pistol or no pistol, this man wants to be killed. Badly.

Jesse looks down at the gun in his hand, turning the safety off and loading the last bullet into the barrel. He's done this before, obviously. 

“Well, I dunno what your whole deal is, or what you got going on, but I guess I still might as well ask for last words,” Jesse mumbles, stepping closer to the marshal. 

“No,” he struggles to shake his head, “No, just do it.”

Jesse sighs, “Whatever you say.”

The pistol feels light in his hand, even as he points it at the man's head, aiming right between his eyes. He slides his finger over the trigger slowly, closing one eye as he looks down the barrel.

“Wherever you're goin’, you're better off than us.”

He pulls the trigger.

The noise deafens him for a moment, but it doesn't stop him from feeling the blood that splatters up onto his arm, and the few drops that make it to his jaw.

Gunpowder hangs in the air and burns Jesse's nose, but he takes a deep breath of it anyway. It almost reminds him of home.

The gun falls to his side, held loosely in his hand as he turns and exits the tent, not at all affected by what he's just done.

Hanzo stands at the fire, looking at the doctor, who is standing frozen, en route to the tent.

“Wh--" She's in shock, and Hanzo doesn't stick around to deal with it. He walks right past her and starts back towards his own fire, leaving them behind.

“What did you do?” Angela asks as if she doesn't know-- more of a formality.

Jesse points the now empty gun at his chest, just using it as an extension of his arm, “Me?” He raises his brows, “I did what you couldn't.”

Angela is furious. Her face reddens, intense, ready to rip his throat out.

“Look, I get where you're coming from being a doctor and all… but people shouldn't have to listen to a man cry like a dog for three days. And him?” He points to the tent, “He wanted it, too. Asked for it. So I don't like it anymore than you do, but somethin’ something has to be done.”

Without another word, Angela goes into the yellow medical tent, staying there only for a moment before she pushes her way back out and past Jesse, not even giving him a passing glance.

She disappears into the night.


End file.
